


The Red Room

by MillyDelLuz



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Tragedy, Awesome Prussia (Hetalia), Bottom Germany (Hetalia), Brothers Germany & Prussia (Hetalia), Dark North Italy, Death, Denmark being a Jerk (Hetalia), England Needs Tea (Hetalia), Everything goes badly, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, France Being France (Hetalia), Graphic Description, Graphic Description of Corpses, Heavy Angst, Horror, I Don't Even Know, It Gets Worse, M/M, Marginal Fluff, Murder, Murder Family, Murder-Suicide, Pervert France (Hetalia), Protective Norway (Hetalia), Psychological Horror, Rape/Non-con Elements, Snapped Italy, Suicide, Survival Horror, Thriller, lots of death, not all bad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:41:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 18
Words: 91,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24484501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MillyDelLuz/pseuds/MillyDelLuz
Summary: Gilbert Beilschmidt and Italy are set on having their wedding in a new manor set up by Italy, sponsored as a wedding gift from Luxembourg. They invite a large group of people upon Italy's request to spend the month with them in general isolation. Their 20 guests are thrown into chaos and a daring fight for survival when Italy unwittingly takes control of the household in a dark murder-hostage plan.
Relationships: America/Russia (Hetalia), Belarus/Ukraine (Hetalia), Canada/Japan (Hetalia), Denmark/Norway (Hetalia), England/France (Hetalia), Finland/Sweden (Hetalia), Latvia/Sealand (Hetalia), North Italy/Prussia (Hetalia), Taiwan/Vietnam (Hetalia)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 47





	1. Photographs And Memories

**Author's Note:**

> There's probably going to be a couple chapters before this in the final version, giving a little more background but this initially started as a one-shot I did out of a creepy name for a channel on my discord server and... well... it escalated and we have this. Countries here are based around people/relationships that exist in our server, and so if it doesn't all seem conventional, that's probably why. In advance, I'd like to say that there is very graphic murder description in this first chapter, and chances are as it progresses more violence will happen, not necessarily in expected ways. If you don't like it, don't read it, and please beware the trigger warning. If these things trigger you, chances are this will. Anyway, if you're a sucker for angst and horror, then read on!

Thick, red light spilled out of the doorway, and Berwald shielded his eyes from the sudden contrast, the room’s vivid illumination in drastic juxtaposition to that of the dark hallway. Despite the fact that it was the middle of the day, sunlight streaming brightly into almost every other room in the house, this hall was darker. Berwald ignored it, chalking the majority of it up to the general lack of lights and windows in the small, carpeted stretch. 

Above that was the attic, or so Feliciano had told him, but Berwald had never had the strong urge to check it out in the week they’d been in the house. He’d seen Mathias head up there only a few hours before, along with Gilbert and Alfred, just saying they wanted to check it out. Of all the crazy things, Berwald couldn’t find it in him to imagine what could be in the attic in the first place, especially given how new Feliciano had said everything was.

Berwald pushed the door aside and headed into the room. They’d called this the ‘red room’, and although initially he’d been skeptical, Gilbert had told him that the main purpose of it was for photo development. Since the creation of the camera, Berwald himself had a fascination with photography - especially on the older cameras which involved a specific photo development process. He marveled at each second of it, taking the images and processing them until they were just right, the colors ingrained perfectly into each thin plexiglass processing point. Upon discovering the existence of the red room, Berwald knew he’d have to try it out himself.

Although it had felt like he’d been incredibly sneaky, going up to the room through that dark and mysterious hallway, shadows dancing about in the most confounding way he could’ve imagined, Berwald was sure he’d be able to use everything properly. He’d gone through the steps countless times before - sometimes alone, sometimes with Tino, when he could convince him - it was always new going about things in a different location. It would take a moment for Berwald to acquaint himself with the new surroundings. The room wasn’t particularly different from several of the red rooms Berwald had used before, but it seemed strange to have such a place in the house.

One part of the room was set aside, with heaping leather chairs that had been arranged with the outside taut, red color - well, Berwald couldn’t completely tell if they were indeed red in color, but under the red light they appeared to maintain a hue slightly darker than the lights themselves. On the other side of the room was the customary polaroid equipment which Berwald had seen so many times before. Cautiously, he headed over, allowing his hands to brush over the smooth, cold metal of the trays. Beside was a pair of glasses, but Berwald ignored them given that he’d brought (and was already wearing) his own pair of chic black frames. It was mostly for protection from the harmful light, but given how Berwald had gone through it so many times already he almost ruled out any chance of not purchasing his own set. Before turning on the first light he’d need, Berwald slipped the pair out of his pocket, placing them firmly upon the ridge of his nose. He pressed them down, feeling the all-too-familiar suction against his face as he prepared the next step of the process.

Slung off of his right shoulder was one of Tino’s satchels that he carried around not infrequently when Berwald had work and needed him to watch over their son, Peter. He’d taken this particular bag just for the afternoon, watching through a window as Tino tossed a ball back and forth with Peter, the young boy laughing as he ran back and forth to catch it. With a slight smile - which Berwald did very infrequently, due to his typically composed demeanor - he’d headed off, unhooking Tino’s purse from the metal hook on the door of their shared room.

Berwald unhitched the back of the plastic camera, taking the photos it had taken into his hand. He’d still have to process them, but it was a start. This reel of film he’d bought could take thirty photos - which he’d done, a lot of it reminiscent of their new life in this house with Feliciano and Gilbert. Some were photos of game nights together, others of Peter and Raivis, and a couple of his favorites - pictures he’d taken of Tino when he fell asleep on their bed, his eyes softly closed as he stretched out, occasionally snoring softly. The light was best during the daytime, so most of these pictures had been taken during afternoon naps or from that time Tino had gotten drunk and fallen asleep, collapsing back in their room.

Even though everything was arranged perfectly - each part of the house pretty much precisely to his liking - the move had been so strange and sudden. Now it was nearly twenty people, all living together under the roof of one large mansion. There hadn’t been much reason for it, either, and although Berwald enjoyed his carefree days there in the presence of Tino, Peter, and the rest of their friends, something always seemed a little bit offset with the house. No one had headed back to their previous homes, but then again, there was no reason to. Every need everyone had was already catered to at the house. Berwald sighed, starting to saturate his first couple photos - these ones of Tino sleeping, his face smushed up against the pillow, eyes closed comfortably as he slept. A smile graced his face, even when asleep - Berwald liked that, too, the way he was always cheerful no matter what happened.

He dipped the tongs into the liquid again, the light he’d turned on making an incessant buzzing noise that provoked the heck out of Berwald, but he did his best to ignore it. After all, it wasn’t that much of an important part of the process, and it was easy enough to distract his mind with other thoughts.He hummed softly, footsteps banging from somewhere above him.

Berwald spun around, the tongs still slightly above the liquid, a little of it seeping from the inside of the image he’d been fixing up. The door had opened a crack, the light flooding out again into the hallway. He shook his head, turning back to his work - it couldn’t be anything much to worry about anyways, and it would do him good to push it out of his mind and just get back to focusing on the task at hand. It would only be another few minutes until his first round of photos of his family were done. Berwald could feel himself getting slightly excited to see them come out - it had been worth it, buying this camera before the trip - even if he only had three reels of film (which meant only 90 photos, if everything developed correctly), it would still be better than having no reels of film. Not documenting any of their adventures thus far would’ve been heartbreaking.

From above, the sound of a shout and something smashing into smithereens could be heard. Berwald recognized neither the scream nor the sound, and although he remained skeptical, he did his best to come up with logic. It had been five hours since anyone entered the attic, surely no one was still up there. What would people keep in a brand new attic, anyway? Nothing, Berwald assured himself, it’s probably just Norge, practicing another spell - or maybe it’s England, doing something foolish like giving Sealand his magic book by mistake. With this, Berwald reassured himself, even though he had more than just a seed of doubt brewing in his mind. He settled upon going to check up on it after he finished the first ten photos, since wasting so much as a single piece of film could be a valuable memory, lost to time.

Berwald bit his lip, carefully snipping the final photos off of the slim spool of film, each image more well-developed than the last. He blew on them softly, setting them on the side to dry. He took the next piece of ten images in his hand, and began to start saturating those as well, keeping an eagle eye out for the ones in the corner as he watched them solidify into images. He’d dedicated specific numbers of images to certain things: ten for his wife, ten for his son, and ten for everyone else being complete goofballs with foolish antics and contests - not that Berwald minded, even though it was strange living with everyone else at the same time, there was an innate sense of community too. Berwald reached a hand up and pushed the glasses further up onto his face. From behind him, he heard a slamming noise. Berwald pivoted faster than he had the previous time, his eyes falling upon the door which had shut firmly. With a quick scan of the room, he could see no exact nor probable cause for the shut. Berwald turned anxiously back to his work, trying to ignore the sound of the door and the feeling of confinement that rushed over him. The door wasn’t locked, no - Feliciano had assured him the only rooms that locked were the bedrooms, and even then they’d only be locked by the holder of the key, who was either the occupant or Feliciano himself.

“Don’t worry about it, Mr. Oxenstierna. You and Tino don’t have to worry about a thing - you won’t get locked in or out, since there are the two keys. And you can’t get stuck anywhere since that’s only the bedrooms,” Feliciano had explained cheerfully, his eyes partially closed as usual, a smile gracing his face.

Berwald had nodded, accepting the old-fashioned brass key from Feliciano. It wasn’t like the modern ones he saw being used to lock up houses so many times - no, that wasn’t it at all - it had a thicker block at the end, curved to make an easy insertion into a keyhole. Beyond that, the center post wasn’t much special, and the end was wound around in an infinity sign with the middle missing. It would make the key ideal for slipping onto a ring and carrying around. Berwald ran his fingers down the slightly rusted over metal after Feliciano had left. The biggest thing he couldn’t understand was when rust had the chance to form on the key. Maybe Feliciano had been collecting older keys, and then designed the house’s keyholes around them? Yeah, that was probably it

He turned to his wrist, hiking the sleeve up part way to check out his watch for the remaining time on these photos. Only about two more minutes, he discovered, with semi relief - with the same part of his mind with which he was able to personally justify each and every strange happening, he wanted to be back in the room, finished photos in hand, no longer having to worry about the strange atmosphere of the red room. Berwald gave the metal pan a gentle shake, watching the water slosh around the photo. This one was of Raivis and Peter sitting at the kitchen table and joking around. Although it was hard to be certain, he’d hoped he’d been able to capture the excitement in their eyes, the joy they always expressed subconsciously when getting a chance to be together.

Berwald started removing the slips from the tray, clipping them up on a line. Everything had already been set up when he arrived at the room - which had been strange - but he accepted it for what it was. After all, his main goal was to get the things developed, and then head back to his room, maybe even heading out to go play catch with Peter. He clipped the third batch off the reel and started to set them in. These photos would be a laugh if anyone ever found them, since they were pictures of things like Mathias playing his recorder wrong and smashing the plastic against the wall. Feliciano had been laughing, a couple other of his friends counting the number of times Mathias cussed out the plastic or debated smashing it against the wall. 

Since it would take a few minutes for everything to finish developing, Berwald turned to look over his finished pieces.

The first couple photographs were developing better than imagined, and Berwald smiled softly to himself as he remembered the moment in which he’d taken them. It was around the sixth photo that something didn’t look quite right. He frowned, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose, trying to make out better what was wrong. He unclipped that one and the one before it, trying to see the difference, since there had been one distinct enough for it to catch his eye. He looked at the sleeping face, serene in both photos, a lock of hair swept across his forehead. The slight smile, the physical position of lying on his side - everything seemed to be the same. Berwald shook his head and set the picture down, looking at the seventh. This one, too, struck him as somewhat different, like a part of the photo was out of place. It was something… about the eyes, he decided. Although when the picture had been taken, Berwald knew Tino was asleep - but this picture portrayed him with eyes half-open, only the whites visible. The sweet smile which had seemed to always be slightly happy now fit into a part of a pained expression, more anxiety. The whole idea made Berwald uneasy - he remembered taking the photos lovingly, recalling each inch of Tino’s face down to the last detail. He hadn’t looked like this, no. Despite not wanting to see more of these changes in the images, Berwald knew he’d best look through all of them before he brought anything back to the room.

Gingerly, he pinched the next photo between his thumb and forefinger, holding it up to the red light. The ceaseless glow had started to flicker slightly, but Berwald decided this could be chalked up to how long the light had been active for. After all, it was already on when he entered the room.

He stared at the next photograph, this one distinctly different from the earlier ones. The eyes were all the way open, still no sign of the irises, just soulless white orbs. At the top of the eye appeared to be a deep line, almost like a cut, but Berwald couldn’t make it out fully under the red lights. The smile stayed, never moving from the once exuberant shape, the only thing changing being Tino’s eyes, and the progressively more vacant, haunted expression that graced his face. Berwald cast the photo aside, murmuring softly to himself as he picked up the next slip off the line, “M’wife…”

Berwald could feel a slight knot forming in his throat, but he pushed it down. All he’d have to do was figure out which pictures were irrecoverable and hide them, or maybe even burn them later. He didn’t want Tino to so much as fathom their existence. It already hurt Berwald’s heart enough to see the drastic changes - something he knew couldn’t have just developed incorrectly, he’d been working with photography like this for too long.

Without a second thought to how he’d have to dispose of the photo, he glanced quickly down at the next. His heart sunk as he looked at it, almost unable to look away. There are two kinds of things in this world which could glue Berwald’s sight to them in the drop of a hat: something so incredibly beautiful, it captivated and took his heart, or something so incredibly terrible, it filled him with pain for each second he continued looking. His fingers glossed over the marred picture of a face. The eyes had been removed now completely, the previous dark slit cuts having made their way all around the outside of the eyes. Still, Tino smiled, but his eyebrows had been knit up like he was in immense pain. The light flickered again, and Berwald no longer cared about checking the remaining images for posterity. Swiftly, he grabbed the slim pair of scissors he’d used before to separate the photos from the long, winding spool of film. Holding the picture between two fingers, he hacked at it, waiting for the image of Tino mutilated like that to be gone, gone from existence forever. It was all he could do to remind himself that nothing had happened, that he’d be fine, still outside playing catch with Peter. The glossy varnish of the paper glistened under the red light, not completely dry yet, although fully developed. The thin slits of paper made a messy pile as Berwald snipped at it, cutting them into tinier and tinier pieces. When he’d finished, only two pieces of the image remained intact: those two, bloody holes buried deep into his face. From behind the closed door, the sound of a muffled scream rang out, and chills ran down Berwald’s spine. He was about to take the rest of the pictures and leave, when something stopped him. He’d have to look at the rest before anything, in case more was wrong with later photos.

With a quick glance, he skipped to the last photo of Tino, given that they only seemed to get worse as the development progressed. He had some of the thick liquid the images had been setting in dripping off the tips of his fingers. The room seemed to be incredibly warm, from the light being active to its fullest extent. Berwald wiped his face, a smear of the liquid running across his forehead and racing down the side of his face. The last picture was, indeed, the worst of all. Rather than lying peacefully on the bed, the skin in a swift line around his neck appeared to be taut, only a portion of his face still visible. The rest had been buried in the pillow, and from what Berwald could make out, the eye sockets were strewn with skin tissue and fibers that had been severed messily with some kind of sharp object which wasn’t in the photo. If Berwald didn’t know better, he would’ve said it looked like the man’s neck had snapped, his body at an uneven angle in proportion to his head. “Wh’t h’pp’n’d?” he whispered, his voice course as his fingers traced Tino’s face with a look of horror. Footsteps ran above the room, but it didn’t matter to Berwald, he could no longer hear the sounds of the outside world. At this point, he needed to know everything was okay. Steadily, he flipped the image over so it was gone from his view - although it was strange, and hard to take his eyes off of it, Berwald hated looking at it with every figment of his being.

The next pictures displayed Peter and Raivis, joking around together at the kitchen table. He’d have to look through these, too, and Berwald gave a silent prayer that nothing terrible would happen in these photos. It was already enough to see someone he loved so dearly maimed, even if just in a photo - but his own son? Berwald sighed, taking the first couple images off the rack. These all seemed fine, but Berwald couldn’t give himself any motion of relief just yet. Even in Tino’s photos, the first couple had been fine. Without a second thought, Berwald took the final photo in his hand. If the worst had been the last previously, he could gauge how painful it would be without slowly seeing the progression of dilapidation. His heart pounded in his chest already, but if anything looking at this new change had made it even worse.

Running up Peter’s arm was a thick red line, like he’d seen before with Tino, only instead of something missing it had all been pulled apart, in some places the bone exposed. Thick, veiny chunks set out, bulging out painfully in a careless way, like whomever had done the job hadn’t cared to be neat in the slightest about it. Some of the color had seeped onto Peter’s cotton sleeves. His face was still lit up in the same way it always was, only the smile seemed forced, the cheer completely out of place. The corners were slightly slit, his lips gaping open a little more with trickles of blood seeping out of the edges. Still, the photo didn’t seem completed in its destruction - and with a heavy heart, Berwald knew instantly that this photo wasn’t the worst in the group. 

He surrendered his thoughts, putting aside all the pictures of Raivis and Peter. These he’d destroy all of later, maybe burning them in the family fire pit after dinner. He couldn’t afford to have Peter see it, not like this. The next set of ten photos had set, and he pinned them out. There wasn’t a progression necessarily here, but more separate little things that popped up occasionally in some images. A dark, deep slit running down the side of Lukas’ face, his eyes in their usual unamused expression, or a small change in someone’s smile from the way Berwald remembered it. This wasn’t how he remembered them. This wasn’t how he wanted to remember.

Berwald swept up his camera, about to close up the back of it. The whole reel of film was gone now, all of it developed - or so he’d thought. As he slipped the top down over, his eyes fell onto one last piece that remained. It had clearly been used, just undeveloped. Berwald let it fall to the table, counting in his head the number of photos he’d already worked to develop. Thirty. He had thirty. This was… an extra. It happened sometimes, the film company cut incorrectly and he ended up with an additional picture or two, but it still surprised him. He popped it in the metal pan, shaking occasionally to help get it set fully in.

He hummed while he waited, hearing pounding from the floor above him. Mathias couldn’t possibly still be in the attic, could he? If anything, the place was so empty you could hear a pin drop, and it would be a miracle if there was so much as a pin in the first place. Berwald sighed. He’d known Mathias for being good at getting into trouble, or at the very least being wild, but five hours in an empty attic seemed a bit like overkill. He liked to have some source of entertainment or stimulus, and got bored easily. An attic would surely bore him to death. Berwald shook his head in bemusement, waiting the few more minutes for his last photo to develop.

With tongs, he picked it up and pinned it dry. Berwald blew on it with a thin stream of air, hoping to perhaps speed along the process. He always felt an air of excitement when he got an extra photo, usually because he’d forgotten what he’d put on it in the first place. The room still had an air of wary about it, and although his stomach twisted at the thought of another sick, messed up photo, he hoped for something cute. Maybe it was one of the puppies he and Tino had adopted a while back, Hanatamago. Berwald unclipped the paper, staring at it. At first, he wasn’t completely sure what he was looking at, but within moments he made out the top of a head. Then glasses - or, what would have been glasses had they not been shattered, some of the shards pushed into the face. There wasn’t a smile, not quite, but a semi-stern expression that bore weight on it somehow, despite having no real semblance to any of the pain he’d seen before. No, this was different. There was a body, too, a deep wound in the chest, although Berwald couldn’t tell quite how it had been inflicted. There was also a scrape along the jawline, although again, he had no real way to determine what had made it. With a horrified start, it dawned on Berwald: this was a picture of him.

Drafty as it was - and it wasn’t - a cold breeze ran down Berwald’s neck. With a buzz and a flicker, the red light vanished, leaving Berwald alone in the darkness. He fumbled for his items, ready to leave the room. His hand slipped, drenched in the fluid used to process the pictures. From the outside of the room, he heard a despondent wail, and someone trying to comfort it. No matter how many times he tried to reprocess the fact it was all in his head, he couldn’t, couldn’t get the pain he’d heard and felt away. “What do you mean?” he heard a taunting voice that he recognized, but his mind was too far away to actually associate it with the person, “Finish your photos, Berwald. You came here for a reason, remember it?”

“No,” he muttered, trying to find the direction to the door, photos all but forgotten about, “I d’n’t c’r b’t th’ ph’t’s.”

Something punctured through his chest, hard and solid, and he could almost hear a playful laughing from somewhere in the once red room. He heaved, a hand running up to the place where it had hit. It hurt, more than he ever could have imagined, but he knew the door would be coming up soon. Berwald could feel his hand getting damper and damper with a thick, almost sticky substance. He tripped over one of the chairs, his sense of consciousness fading quickly. As Berwald fell, his face scraped against an unfinished corner of a wooden cabinet, a shallow marking on his jawline. His glasses broke, pressing up against his face as he hit the hard ground, shards getting in his eyes. “You thought,” the voice said - definitely masculine, but higher pitched than he thought, “And I don’t blame you. But hey, we all get our chances. You’ll get more, don’t worry!”

Berwald could feel himself losing his ability to see, and his breaths becoming shallower and shallower. The intrusion in his chest had narrowly missed his heart, but it was sufficient to do damage. “P’t’r… T’n’…” Whatever had happened, after he’d gone to get the polaroid photos, was a mystery - he’d likely never know. It didn’t matter, as long as everyone else was all right - Gilbert, and Mathias, and Alfred, and everyone - he didn’t care so much as they were fine and alive. 

“Ve~” the sound of a camera clicking from above irritated Berwald as he lay on his back, swiftly bleeding out. Berwald coughed, expelling a breath before he became just another part of the dark, lifeless world around him.


	2. Escape The Blade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, on the second chapter of the thing I wrote to be just a oneshot. Anyway, not much I really have to say in the notes - there's some fluff, some light shipping (if you can call it that), and then also gore. Have fun!

The incessant banging from the rooms above was frustrating enough as Natalya sat on the corner of her bed, swiping the scratched steel rod she had for polishing her knife collection. It was a miracle Feliciano had let her bring them into the house, since he’d been so insistent upon keeping the weapons people brought to a minimum. Natalya was particularly fond of having her chest of knives, but she understood the reasoning: when the idea of all spending a month together in a newly-built manor to celebrate Feliciano and Gilbert’s wedding came to light, Ukraine had dragged her into coming.    
  
She could be insistent too, though, and her knife collection which now lay in its case against the far wall was undoubtedly proof of that. The wedding had been yesterday, and Natalya always felt a little bit of loneliness when it came to her brother Ivan ever since he’d started dating Alfred. It had been a hard wall of confirmation that she’d probably never get the chance to be with him and love him the way she knew she’d be able to do so well. Natalya ground on her teeth bitterly, taking another stroke with her steel at the knife. She’d been practicing knife sharpening like this for God knows how long, and she’d become quite impressive with her ability to make a fine blade, perfect for a clean, exact slice.

Natalya imagined someone standing in the doorway, holding in the knife as she took a stroke at the air, in her head picturing the perfect wound, and the way the blood would spill out, taking her victim completely by surprise. There wasn’t necessarily anyone she wanted to pull her knife on at the moment - although perhaps Alfred for taking her sweet brother away from her clutches.    
  
From upstairs, there had been a painful amount of noise - whether it was yelling or laughing, Natalya was one for peace and quiet, not obnoxious noise like she’d been hearing. It was almost four in the afternoon, and somewhere from upstairs she’d heard a loud, dull thump, almost like something collapsing. It could’ve been a metal table falling on a carpet, too - it sounded relatively muffled, and even though she was used to hearing sounds like this, it still seemed strange.

The young Belarusian stood up, and walking quietly over to the white door, thrust her hand at it to slam it shut. She was done for the most part with hearing all this noise, and even though a thin piece of wood really wouldn’t do too much, Natalya was at her wit’s end. She marched to the dresser, picked up the old key she and Yekatrina had been given, and let it click swiftly in the lock. Feliciano had told her that these could lock the door, and although she hadn’t had the chance to try it yet, there was always a first for everything. Her face felt a little flushed, especially since she hadn’t quite adapted to the warm spring weather outside Feliciano’s house. It was a lot warmer here, at any rate - much more than her own little house in Belarus, constantly buried in at least three feet of icy snow. That was the way she liked it, a temperature that was nicely below freezing - just like her heart.

At the door came a tentative knock, and Natalya rolled her eyes. The door knob jiggled, the metal hitting against the wood. “Hey, Natty, let me in,” Yekatrina called out, leaning her head against the door, “Remember, Feliciano and Gilbert wanted to have their party tonight, since the after-wedding celebration went so late last night. I want to get ready, and you should probably do the same.”

Natalya frowned and set her knife down on the navy bedspread Yekatrina had picked out. It matched the white and navy dress Natalya wore so frequently, it almost seemed like Yekatrina had some kind of additional affection for her, but there was no reason to jump to conclusions. “Fine, I’ll let you in,” Natalya sighed, smoothing the wrinkles out of her skirt with a deft hand, picking up the key as she headed in the general direction of the door she’d locked only moments earlier, “But I’m busy, so next time don’t bother me like that.”

The Ukrainian woman rushed in, giving Natalya a hug. She smiled brightly, which Natalya found made her heart skip a few beats, even though she couldn’t explain why. She pushed Yekatrina off with a frown, heading back to her knife, the steel rod still in her hand. She blew on it a couple of times, letting the thin metal filings fall off onto the bed, cupping her hand around the shaft to fully brush them off. Natalya picked up the knife, blowing on that a couple of times too just to make sure it was fully clean. This particular one had been one of her prized possessions, a gift from Yekatrina about a month before they’d moved together into the house, with Feliciano and Gilbert. It was strange, being around everyone all the time, and Natalya did get sick of it quite frequently. They’d only really brought Latvia, meaning she didn’t have as many people catering to her every need. Yekatrina was pretty willing to do tasks for her, though, which made up in part to her. The loss of almost all outside contact didn’t really matter too much to Natalya, the only person she really talked to being Yekatrina, Ivan, and the three Baltics.

“Natty, what are you planning on wearing?” Yekatrina asked, opening the closet door to get a look at the dresses she’d brought, “You might as well look nice, after all, this is Feliciano and Gilbert’s wedding after party.”

“Why should I care?” Natalya whined, staring at her reflection in the mirror as she swept a couple of the long, tan strands of hair out of her eyes, “The only wedding I care about is mine and Ivan’s, and since this is not that, I see no reason to go to this party.”

The corners of Yekatrina’s mouth turned down into a little pout and she pivoted neatly to face Natalya. In her hand was a dress, light pink in color. It had a high neckline, similar to the one Natalya displayed on her own dress, and long satiny folds that would fall about a foot below Natalya’s kneecaps. Yekatrina held it up, pressing it against the young woman’s chest to admire it for a second. “It’s their party, and they invited us to live here for a month. It’s the least you can do, celebrating them. Here, I got you this dress a while back, won’t you at least try it on? I was going to give it to you for… something else, but now seems like a better occasion anyway.”

“What other thing?” Natalya gave her a suspicious glance, her violet eyes narrowed into accusing slits as she reached her hand up to take the hanger from Yekaterina, “I guess I’ll wear it. You’re going to drag me to this reception regardless, aren’t you?”

Yekatrina nodded cheerfully, her back to Natalya as she searched for a dress for herself. Her short hair bobbed in the dusty sunlight of the afternoon as she moved up and down, scouring the closet for something that she wanted to wear. Her most challenging predicament was her particularly large chest, which Natalya noted as she watched the other woman, since it so rarely fit comfortably into most dresses and shirts. Natalya turned away from Yekaterina, starting to take off her dress so she could put on the other one. She didn’t really care if Yekatrina saw what she looked like undressed, but it still made her feel a little less barren when she didn’t face her. Natalya quivered slightly, the sudden drop in temperature shocking to her pale, bare skin. She pulled the zipper down to the bottom, slowly stepping into the satiny pink fabric, already feeling it flow loosely around her body. “Yes, you can count on it. I don’t want to be alone at the party,” Yekatrina sighed, holding up a pretty light blue frock, “How does this look?”

Being completely honest, Natalya found it quite flattering, but she didn’t want to give the Ukrainian that much let on. Her violet eyes ran up and down Yekaterina, still squinted into little daggers. “It’s fine - are you sure we have to get this dressed up? It seems pretty informal, especially given how everyone essentially lives together now. I for one look forward to going back home to peace and quiet, just me and Brother.”

Yekatrina shook her head, pulling down the canvas suspenders she almost always wore so she could step out of her pants more easily. The dress she’d chosen wasn’t quite as long, falling just above her knees, the skirt flouncing out in a way that seemed to suit her - at least in Natalya’s eyes. “Oh, you and brother,” Yekatrina moaned, rolling her eyes with a half-hearted smile, “How about me? Anyway, the party’s going to start in a few minutes, you’d better finish up getting ready soon.”

Natalya stared at her blank face in the mirror, taking a moment to readjust the navy and white striped bow she wore on the top of her head so it wasn’t slumped over. Occasionally it did that, finding a relatively crinkled resting place, but Natalya did her best to starch it not infrequently to make sure it maintained a stiff, professional shape. She gave her reflection a hard smile before letting her lips turn down in their typically unamused fashion, zipping up the right side of the dress as she strode towards the doorway. Yekatrina fumbled with her skirts, doing her best to catch up to Natalya. Even though she was undoubtedly taller, with longer legs, Natalya had a sort of due diligence in her steps which made her significantly faster than the Ukrainian. 

The women ran down the steps, Yekaterina barefoot while Natalya wore small black heels, in line with what she had on most days. The rooms on the first floor had high ceilings that towered over everyone, nearly two men tall - and making her way down the spiral staircase, Natalya had to admit she felt almost like a princess, her bow flouncing as she moved, step after step. By the time she reached the bottom, Yekatrina was out of breath, her chest rising and falling with each new intake of air. Feliciano, who had been standing in the center of the room surrounded by almost everyone else turned to face the women. “Oh, I’m so glad you came! Everyone’s here now, we can start!”

Gilbert bent over, giving Feliciano a soft peck on the cheek. In between the solid marble countertops was a table covered in a long white cloth. On top, Feliciano had taken care to set up a handful of champagne glasses, all filled about three quarters of the way up with a bubbling beige liquid, occasional drops of it popping up off the surface and onto either the tablecloth or the outer rim of the glass. He grinned, already holding a glass in his hand, and made an ecstatic gesture toward the table with his open hand. Natalya hadn’t seen very much of Feliciano due to her typical secluded lifestyle, but immediately she knew that this was a level of joviality above the Italian’s norm. The crowd made their way towards the glasses, each person taking one. Peter picked one up, but Tino took it from him and set it back on the table, “No, Peter, this is for the adults.”

“Let the boy live a little!” Feliciano picked up the glass in his free hand and passed it to Peter. He gave Tino a meaningful look, which somehow made it across through his near-shut eyes and wide grin, “Don’t worry about it - it’s only a little champagne, and if he doesn’t like it he’ll put it down! Then he can share in this toast, with the rest of us.”

Tino sighed, looking down at Peter and tousling his dusty blonde hair gently. “I… I guess it’s all right. But just this once, okay, Peter?” Peter skipped off, holding his glass of champagne up high as he headed over to Raivis, and Tino glanced nervously at Feliciano, “I’m sorry to interrupt such a momentous occasion for you, but Feli, you do know that we’re missing someone, right? I don’t know where Berwald is, and if I’m completely honest, I’m getting a little worried about him. You haven’t seen him or anything, have you? He just said he was going to that red room, maybe I ought to go check and make sure he’s all right.”

The Italian shook his head, his auburn hair swaying from side to side. He scrunched up his lips for a moment, his brow knitting up as he thought before reverting to his cheerful form. “Don’t worry about him - I saw him in the hallway as he was leaving the room, he said he wanted to take a walk and that he’d probably miss the party. It was sad, but he seemed all right. He gave me your purse - oh, and a camera, they’re in your room. I wouldn’t worry - enjoy yourself! It’s going to be fun!”

“He said that?” Tino swirled the champagne around in the glass with a frown, “That doesn’t sound like Berwald - to just leave, especially missing an event like this. He’d have told me, unless something was really wrong. I… I’ll take your word for it, but if he isn’t back after this party, I want to set up a search. You know, just in case something is wrong.”

“Certainly!” Feliciano smiled again, patting Tino on the back in a weak attempt to console him, “He seemed fine, I’m sure he’ll be back soon. Now, go enjoy yourself! There’s lots of wine, lots of beer, lots of pasta, and Gilbert helped me make a traditional German blood soup too! Everything will be alright, ve? Here, I will call the toast, and we can officially begin the celebration!” Feliciano picked up a spoon that had been resting on the table, and tapped it lightly against the rim of his glass twice. The room grew silent, all the guests turning towards the eager Italian and the pleasantly surprised albino beside him, “Thank you guys for coming to my wedding, and staying! It’s been so nice to have friends to celebrate with, to make dinner for, and to spend time with! I hope you are enjoying the stay, since we still have some time together before this all ends. Gilbert, did you want to talk too?”

When Feliciano had mentioned an end, Gilbert shot him a quick but confused glance before reverting back to his grinning self. “Yeah! Thanks all for coming out here to our new awesome manor, it’s great to have you here! I’m psyched to get this party started, let’s go! We drink - to many years, together, and many awesome friendships!”

Natalya took a light sip at her champagne in the over-enthusiastic Prussian’s direction. To be fair, she hadn’t had much champagne at all in her life, but it tasted strange in a way that bothered her - it stung the back of her throat as she swallowed, taking a bitter glance around the room to gauge everyone else’s reactions to it. Most everyone had downed their glass instantly, even little Peter Kirkland - much to Tino’s dismay - and a couple people had even started heading back over to the small table with the silky sheet for more to drink. Natalya sighed, taking in a deep breath before swiftly downing the remainder of the half-filled glass. The chalky, bitter taste nearly brought a tear to her eye, but she shoved the idea away and wiped her lips with her forefinger, just enough to clean off any of the residual liquid that had been on them. She dried her hand off on a corner of her dress carelessly, looking away from the large group of people. Natalya debated going over to Ivan, perhaps to ask him to marry her again - but it wasn’t really worth it, given his current peak of engagement as he held hands with Alfred, the two of them smiling as they talked with Francis. No, it would be wrong to pull him away like that, she decided, a dull pain starting to lull in the side of her head. Surely the party couldn’t be the preceptor of the headache. Natalya wrung her hands behind her back, wishing that this could be over and Yekatrina would just let her go sharpen a knife or something, any kind of escape from having to deal with a cocktail party, a drunk Ivan and his boyfriend, and now a confounded headache. With a start, Natalya remembered a little pill bottle of pain reducer Yekaterina always brought with her, usually saved in the case that someone got hurt or just needed quick pain reduction. 

She wandered over to the other woman, who was conversing casually with England as she took little sips at her second glass of champagne. Natalya nudged her shoulder more gently than she had before, trying to make herself as polite as possible, just for posterity’s sake. She didn’t entirely want Yekatrina to know she was after the medicine, since there would undoubtedly come questions beyond what Natalya was comfortable with the other woman knowing. Anyway, it didn’t matter tremendously given the fact that she’d be coming back soon enough to the “I’m going to go to the bathroom for a few minutes, if anyone asks where I am.”

“Okay, Natty,” the blue eyed woman shot her a wide grin, patting her back, “I’ll do that. See you when you get back!”

Natalya gave a quick nod and hurried back up the stairs. Her heels clicked against the polished marble stairs, and she sped up - if anything, this set of stairs was one of the shallowest, with only several centimeters between the top of one step and the next, meaning to get up it at any speed she had to make haste. The back of Natalya’s dress flew out behind her, and her movement was graceful despite the somewhat crazed nature of it. She ran her hand along the smooth wooden bannister as she ran, feeling the cool surface as comforting on her hand. Natalya stumbled over the top step, feeling another bout of pain come on, flooding her thoughts for a moment. She expelled a breath of air in frustration, shaking her head as she made her way down the long cornflower blue hallway to the little room she and Yekatrina shared. Even though their room definitely wasn’t as far down as some other rooms were, it was still relatively far given the grandeur and length of the hallway - it sort of had to be big, to accommodate all the rooms it did. For a moment, it didn’t make sense to Natalya why there’d be so many rooms in a mansion like this, especially guest rooms, but her headache kicked in again and any concern she’d expressed previously had faded away.

Natalya groaned to herself, finding Yekatrina’s suitcase easily enough - she had left it lying out in the middle of the floor, although all the articles of clothing were still folded up neatly and packaged in it. Natalya sifted through it until she came upon a small canvas bag adorned with brightly colored floral print where the Ukrainian kept her pain relief pills along with several little trays of makeup that were rarely used. She unbuttoned the six small pearl buttons and loops which kept it contained securely and dug her hand around inside. A couple moments passed, Natalya feeling little brushes and metal edges brush up against her hand, but at last she settled upon the circular pill container. She ripped it out triumphantly, and pinched down on the cap, undoing the seal. Natalya shook the pills around a couple times, listening to the outsides of the capsules hit up against the plastic. With an air of satisfaction, she let a couple fall out onto her hand, tipped her head back and swallowed them down quickly.

Her throat burned, still laced with the champagne, and the hard pill casing didn’t help her case. She coughed a couple times into the crook of her arm, her brow wrinkled. It couldn’t have been any more than ten minutes since the beginning of the party, and yet the onset of pain had seemed unnaturally sudden, which Natalya couldn’t say she liked. Her vision seemed to be blurring a little bit as well, all the shapes suddenly becoming clear and distinct, and then morphing into unsure, fuzzy versions of their previous glory. Natalya tried to search her mind for a reasonable explanation, why the dizziness, why she felt… drunk. There wasn’t really another way to put it, the feeling of having too much alcohol and having the starting symptoms of intoxication. 

Natalya chuckled dryly to herself, scowling as she stood up to face her reflection in the mirror, cheeks pinked in a strange contrast to her snow-pale skin. It was an unnatural look for her, a striking young woman of nineteen years with an incredible alcohol tolerance to feel even the tiniest bit intoxicated, which she noted as she headed back out into the hallway to return grudgingly to the party. It would have nearly been justifiable to go lie down and let everything wash out of her, but Natalya - for the first time in a while - felt it was wrong, a slight knot forming in her stomach as she trudged out of the room with heavy steps. Something still felt somewhat amiss, although it wasn’t anything Natalya could place her finger on. Paintings of idyllic Italian scenery shook with her steps, the clacking against the hard floor becoming tremendously prevalent in the dead silent hallway, the only noise of people talking and yelling from below the stairs. Instead of rushing this time, Natalya took her steps one by one, slowly easing herself closer and closer to the base floor. 

The noise level in the room had skyrocketed, transferring from quiet cocktail party chat to a din. Some yelling could be heard, hoots of laughter dancing over the already heinous noise. The tableau hadn’t fully come into view for Natalya just yet, but the first thing her eyes fell upon was Kiku, the young Japanese man making out intently with Matthew. Natalya shook her head in confusion, blinking again like she was trying to clear something from her eyes - and in a way she was, mostly just trying to get the image in front of her fully processed, given how unbelievable it seemed. Before, Matthew had tried to hold hands with Kiku and the Japanese man pushed him away, chastising him for not maintaining the respectful amount of personal space he was so used to. Now, his hands roamed Matthew’s body frantically, brushing through the Canadian’s blonde hair and running up his shirt, as if Kiku had been touch-starved for too long. His lips pressed hard against Matthew’s, pulling away for mere seconds at a time just to delve back in, both of their faces flushed with passion of the moment. Matthew let a trembling hand come to Kiku’s chest, starting to undo the buttons on the long white coat he always wore, the two of them still acting lustful and rogue towards one another.

Natalya pulled her eyes away from the sight before she saw something beyond just a couple of chaste kisses and the way they’d started stripping each other like that. Part of what surprised her was the fact that it was a public environment - Matthew was a private, quiet man, who was almost always sensible in his decisions, usually going so far as to call out his brother Alfred when he brought crackhead ideas to the table. Kiku didn’t seem like any kind of exhibitionist, but the way he’d senselessly let Matthew strip him, it just seemed so far from who they were. Natalya felt her heart race - maybe, if everyone was like this, she’d have a better chance with Ivan! It couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes, Natalya noted, feeling her stomach churn as she watched the people she knew so well, her head aching. “Did I pass out upstairs?” Natalya murmured to herself, watching with a keen eye as Ludwig attempted a one-armed handstand on top of the table which had previously held the champagne, “This… this can’t be right. I have to find Ivan.”

Ludwig had managed to pull a stool over from the kitchen island in the other room, and he took a moment to brace himself as he towered over the table. He crouched, his knees easing him down into a tucked position before springing up into the air, his body as flat as a plank of wood before landing precisely on his left hand. Natalya gave a light sigh of relief, pleased that he hadn’t come crashing down and knocking champagne everywhere. Ludwig shot a crazy grin at no one in particular before yelling something unintelligible in German and pushing himself off the table, aiming to catch his body with the other hand. His black glove slipped on the white fabric, and even though he tried in vain to grasp it and pull himself to some form of recovery, nothing so much as slowed the speed with which he plummeted to the ground headfirst, falling unconscious on the floor. Feliciano, although observing this, didn’t look the least bit surprised nor concerned, which brought Natalya a more uneasy sensation. The young Italian, always fawning over the sturdy blond man bore a blank look in his eye as he watched thick, red liquid spill from the newly-opened wound, marring the smooth and well-kept nature of the man’s hair. A small whimper escaped Ludwig’s lips as his face paled, teasing him into unconsciousness. Natalya nearly approached Feliciano, given his odd composure compared to everyone else, but stopped herself - if something was wrong, truly wrong and this wasn’t just some sick dream she’d fallen into, talking to someone other than Ivan could get her hurt.

Within moments, she spotted her brother, standing at the corner of the room, his bare chest pressed up against Alfred’s as he held him in strong arms, keeping him from escaping. Natalya could feel her heart sink for a few seconds - Ivan didn’t want her, not even in his drunken stupor - rather, he ignored her existence entirely as he kept the slim American close to him. Alfred felt the hot breath on his neck, shivering immediately from the cold skin of the other man and the slowly diminishing amount of air he could take in as Ivan’s hands wrapped tighter around his frame. Alfred’s breathing hitched and he made a force, guttural sound from deep inside him, his glasses slipping helplessly to the ground. Natalya spun her head back towards emotionless Feliciano, the pain in her head subsiding slightly but a feeling of nausea becoming ever-prevalent.

Natalya’s chest ached, and for a few moments in a strange limbo she could feel herself wishing more and more that she’d brought one of her knives with her. From behind, something tapped lightly on her shoulder. The touch wasn’t unpleasant, fingers filled with a warmth, but she could still feel herself tense up. “Hey Natty, I really love you,” the voice was the soft one of the Ukrainian woman, and Natalya let herself fall a little more into ease, “Natty, can I kiss you? I love you.”

Natalya was about to protest, but as her lips parted she could feel ragged breath enter her mouth, her words cut off as Yekatrina met her mouth, her face pinking at the touch. Natalya shoved her off, a disgusted look on her face. With one hand she reached up and readjusted the bow that perched atop her head. Yekaterina smiled softly, returning to Natalya to kiss her again, but the young Belarusian kept her away with one arm extended by her side. “God, you’re all drunk or something,” she whined, watching Yekatrina’s giddy expression, “I’m done here. Let’s leave, get you in bed,” she shot Ivan a look, pain and revolt in her eyes, but said nothing, “All this nonsense with wanting to kiss me. It’s bedtime for you.”

She wrapped her hand firmly around Yekatrina’s, dragging her through the edges of the room without a glance behind her. She could worry about everything else later, maybe even stab Ivan a couple of times to remind him what would happen if he ever betrayed her like that again, letting himself lick and kiss and bite that American - much less anything more. Yekatrina babbled as they moved, still pulling relatively hard on Natalya’s death grip. “Shut up, will you?” she moaned, trying to keep the other woman by her side, “I’m only doing this because you’re high as fuck, and you don’t love me.”

Natalya made it to the bottom of the staircase, which was rather isolated from the rest of the group. She had started pulling the Ukrainian up the steps, but by the time she’d reached the third one, something stopped her. “Natalya, the party’s not done yet! Come stay, you can have more champagne!”

She bit her lip, a little bit of blood welling up in one of the chapped pockets she’d created. Natalya met Yekatrina’s eyes for a second, seeing the far-gone, dazed expression of the usually thoughtful and kind blue eyes - and even though she didn’t care, her mind told her that she had to bring this woman along, for the good of both of them. “I don’t feel well,” she lied, redirecting her attention to Feliciano, “Nor does Yeka. I’m taking her back to the room, we’re done here.”

“You haven’t tasted the champagne?” he asked, a little frustration building in his still-overzealous voice, “It’s good, come, you must have more.”

“I said, I’m sick!” Natalya turned back up the stairs, Yekatrina following her a little more willingly now, “I’m leaving! Tomorrow morning I’ll be headed back to my cabin, nice and isolated, the way I like it!”

Feliciano had tears welling up in his eyes, which he wiped away with a swift motion of his tuxedo sleeve. “Okay. At least, let Yekatrina stay. She seems to be enjoying the party, and the more people here, the more fun it will be. You know what they say,” he sniffled softly, taking Yekatrina’s other hand and leading her away from Natalya, “The more the merrier. While we’re at it,” he paused, looking back at the fleeing woman through soft brown eyes, a glint of light coming into the right one, “We’ll play a game - we can see if I can’t convince you to join. It would be a pleasure to have you.”

The Italian watched as Natalya made her way up the stairs, and upon reaching the next floor, he started following her slowly up the stairs. She knew he was a fast runner - but she’d only seen him once or twice when he was fleeing enemies. Natalya ran toward her room, finding the knife cabinet without a problem. If she could grab one, this stupid Italian - and then her foolish brother and the American - would all be dead meat, stabbed to death. The rage pent up in her mind really wasn’t beneficial, especially not with the headache and nausea she already felt brewing in her body. Feliciano’s voice reverted back to his usual, cheerful self, and he gave a painfully gleeful grin, “I’ll see you soon, Bella!"

For some odd reason, this made Natalya beyond anxious. Her fingers clawed at the metal door of the cabinet, frantic as she searched for one of her knives but to no avail. The door refused to pry open, no matter how desperately she thrust her fingers at it, small and deep gashes covering her fingertips like a set of gloves. Again, Natalya ground her teeth into her bottom lip, feeling a thick stream of rusty blood dribble down her chin. It didn’t matter to her, too caught up in the moment for any of that. She could hear footsteps getting closer and closer, and without a second thought ran out of the room. Although her mind was foggy, she remembered Berwald and Gilbert talking about some sort of room with a color. Orange? No, that wasn’t it. She scurried up the next set of stairs, the hem of her dress catching on a nail that stuck out the side of the floorboards. Natalya pulled on the fabric, the sound of Feliciano’s slow dress shoes against the wood floor echoing in her head. The dress ripped swiftly, almost the entire skirt and a significant portion of the top completely gone, cast aside on the stairs as the Italian approached. 

Natalya nearly wished she’d just agreed to being at the party, or that she’d pretended to be drunk the same way everyone else had. The hallway she approached was dark as all get out, the night time not helping much either. She slipped into the room, a dim red light flickering above several photos. Natalya shut the door swiftly behind her, ignoring the keyhole at the edge of the door. Even in pursuit, she took a moment to survey her surroundings - the photographs, which appeared to display injuries and death on the people she knew so well almost didn’t make her apprehensive - until she saw one featuring Ivan.

His skin was charred and crispy, one eye half-open while the other one remained shut, giving him a broken-doll look. From his closed eyelid in chunks was the pulpy remains of what was once an eye, scattered all over his right cheek. His face, with its typical smooth pale skin looked as though it had been burned, or that he had some kind of electricity pulsing through his veins to the point of boiling the blood in his body. Ivan’s lips had been cut off entirely with a jagged severed line, except for half of the bottom one which hung from a bloody fiber overtop of his chin - or so it looked to Natalya, given what she knew surrounding injuries - his ivory teeth bared in a disgraceful, pained fashion. Still, his look maintained his overall composure of childlike innocence, and at that moment Natalya knew that no matter what happened, she wasn’t capable of stabbing or hurting Ivan. Not anymore, not after looking at this picture of him already so beat up and… dead.

With a jolt, Natalya remembered Feliciano, and upon hearing footsteps just outside the door, she could feel her stomach twist itself into another knot, nausea overcoming her. This wasn’t right. She was without Yekaterina, and there was still more to do. Tomorrow, she’d go back home, by whatever means that meant - even if it was bending over backwards with money and apologies to the couple, she’d do it. Over by another counter there were two large chairs, the main piece of furniture in the room. Making haste, Natalya pinched the photo between her fingers and rushed behind the chairs. There was a strong scent wafting away from something beside Natalya, the scent reminding her of the salty taste of blood she could feel on her own lips. She ducked her tan head down below the top of the chair, wrinkling her nose in repulsion before her violet eyes settled upon the outline of a large body lying in a pool of dried crimson. Natalya gulped, hearing the door open. In a feverish haze, her eyes shot around, searching to find something to defend against whatever was coming - even if he had just followed her up here disturbingly to deliver something as simple as a balloon, Natalya wanted to bash his head in for giving her such a fright - between everyone being drunk, her nausea and headache, and the way he’d stalked her, Natalya was done. On the top of the counter, near where the photo had been were a pair of sharp scissors, not quite a knife but close enough to one for Natalya’s liking.

Feliciano stood in the doorway, beelining towards the chair Natalya hid behind, Berwald’s corpse still lying beside her. “Bella, if you’re not coming back, at least let me give you a cookie.”

“I don’t want your stupid cookie,” she complained, Feliciano staring at her from a few feet away, the pastry held out in his hand, “Besides, what’s this corpse doing here? Didn’t you tell Tino he went for a walk? He’s clearly not walking.”

The Italian got closer to her, shoving the cookie physically into Natalya’s mouth. She took a bite, grudgingly tasting the sweetness on her tongue. If she had to admit it wasn’t half bad, she’d die. Taking another bite, she finished up the treat - it wasn’t particularly large, and with the large first bite she’d gotten in her mouth from Feliciano’s forcing it there, most of the cookie was gone. “What kind?” she asked, licking the extra crumbs which had stuck to the sticky blood.

“It doesn’t matter,” Feliciano chirped, “Anyway, I’ll let you be now. After all, I just wanted you to taste it. Gilbert helped me make them this afternoon, they’re a classic German recipe - he uses almond flavor, I think.” 

Natalya watched him speak, the light in the room seeming to get dimmer and dimmer, nausea consuming her. She bent over, heaving as a sour, chunky substance spilled out of her mouth, her throat burning for air, for water, for relief. None of it came. Natalya swallowed hard, on her knees in front of Feliciano, gagging from lack of oxygen as she stared up into his eyes. Her dress was torn and bloody, her body exposed to the harsh elements more than it had been for as long as she could remember. In a fleeting thought, she wished she’d taken Yekaterina with her. The light left her eyes, and Natalya crumpled to the floor, her bare back covered in the semi-solid chunks that were still warm to the touch. “Tell Yeka-'' she gasped, her chest heaving for air, the last breath of air.

Feliciano left the room, slamming the door shut behind himself. “Ciao, Bella!”

“-tell her I love her.”


	3. Don't Look Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All trigger warnings apply here, just keep them in mind as you read. Also, before I start I want to thank my discord friends for helping out with the ideas process and brainstorming! I can't believe there's already three chapters - since I've never been able to commit myself to reading something too long, let alone writing it, but here we are! While I'm not particularly fond of this chapter, aka character introduction time, it's here regardless. Hope you enjoy!

Laughter bubbled up in Yekatrina’s chest as she swung her legs back and forth given how easily they dangled over the edge of the table she was sitting on. She wasn’t short per se, but the position she’d chosen gave her plenty of space between her feet and the floor. It was almost satisfying to Yekatrina, the way she felt again like a small child with everything in the world sized so much larger than she herself was. Between that and the overt loneliness she felt as she watched the happenings through her quaint rose colored lens, Yekatrina never realized how much she had missed feeling young and playful like this, as if she could control whatever part of the world she had her mind set on. Yekatrina giggled softly to herself, her face flushed a bright red as she watched Ludwig on the floor, bleeding into unconsciousness. 

On the far side of the room, Nguyen clung to Lin, almost fully unclothed as she pressed her body up against the Taiwanese teen. Strangely enough, she seemed to be the most affected by the champagne, her voice slurred as she forced himself onto the brunette, who did her best to keep the Vietnamese off. Nguyen ran her fingers through the soft long strands of hair, her touch heavy and lacking the control she usually brought with her. Lin shivered, the blush spreading from her cheeks to her chest as she bit down on her lip, still very much intoxicated beyond what she ever would have chosen willingly. Nguyen worked her way down the front of Lin’s long dress, the two of them falling to the ground together as Nguyen leaned further and further onto her frail body, pulling the tunic down until Lin’s bare skin was illuminated by the comforting lighting of the family room, her arms crossed over her bare chest in the last bit resolute defense she had to offer. 

Lin would have consented upon any other circumstance, just not this where Nguyen was delirious and Lin could feel her own mind spiraling into the high heavens as the world blurred in and out. Slowly, she gave in, feeling the other woman’s hot skin against her own. “Nguyen… what are you…” her words tripped over one another, not making full audible sense as she spoke them. With a sudden hand on her pelvis, Lin squirmed against Nguyen, trying to get up unsuccessfully, “No… don’t… not like this-“

Nguyen’s other hand clamped down over Lin’s damp lips, and she tried to meet Nguyen’s gaze with her half-lidded chestnut eyes as she shifted, the other woman’s fingers thrusting into her damp folds harshly - the usual gentle touch now turned suddenly rough and mindless. Nguyen’s blunt hint of nail scraped against her, her drunken haze preventing her from understanding what was happening. Lin felt herself starting to cry out in pain, tears pressing out of the corners of her soft eyes while she said nothing. There wasn’t anything she could say, no way to cry out for her to stop. Lin’s mind was already far enough gone that the morning would come and she’d wake up, her dress stained with bodily fluids, and she wouldn’t remember the torment and pain she’d been put through. She lifted her head slightly and Nguyen’s hand slammed it back onto the floor with a dull thudding noise and she fought to maintain consciousness above the din. Nguyen thrust her legs apart, leaning down to kiss and nibble at the Taiwanese woman’s neck.

As she slipped down, into the depths of her mind and unconsciousness, Lin gave a silent prayer that no matter what happened, everything would be okay. That she’d wake up, that all this was just a dream. Her heart palpitated, her face warm with the thick heat of the room and the stupor of drunkenness. If only… she could make it out alive. Lin passed out, her face relaxing into a pained smile. Ignorance was bliss, and due to the hit her head had taken, this would all be forgotten easily.

Yekatrina glanced away from the corner, still swinging her legs like a little girl. There was giddiness in her heart as she laughed loudly, her mind set on one thing - one thing that was no longer there: Natalya. She’d been drawn away from her as the Belarusian ran up the stairs, Feliciano following at her heels like a puppy. It had been a while since she’d gone up, and although Yekatrina’s understanding of time had been warped, she knew it had to be over thirty minutes. Not too long ago, Feliciano had returned casually, brushing crumbs off of his slim black leather gloves. He slipped them off, folding them over into his pocket. There wasn’t much of a need for them now, although he’d have to see about washing them off. After all, it was poor form to go around with food on your gloves - at least in the Italian’s mind, it was. The true likelihood was that no one would care about it, dismissing it easily, but Feliciano didn’t want to have to take that chance.

Gilbert was sitting at the circular kitchen table in the next room over, talking with Matthias about something. His words were a little unintelligible, but Matthias seemed to understand the gist, responding in his own burbled fashion. Feliciano brushed Gilbert’s hair back as he came up on him from behind, kissing his forehead softly. The albino looked up in surprise, pleased to see his lover behind him. “How are you, mio Tesoro?” 

“I couldn’t be better, I’m awesome as ever!” the Prussian man yelled in a thick voice, his accent overwhelming the words, “Even better now that you’re here at the party with me! Take a seat, come grab some more to drinky with Matthias and me. Matt, I think I know where a recorder is if you wanna jam - I’ll play to you with my electric guitar and we can duit- duit? No, duet. That’s a word, right? Yeah it’s a word, duet!”

Gilbert stood up, taking a step before Feliciano had to catch him so he didn’t fall on his face. “Aight, bring back the booze when you’re done! Don’t know what’s in that stuff but me likey!” Matthias called back, patting the table with a clumsy hand. He shot a dorky smile at Gilbert, his spiked hair messily falling in front of his eyes. He pushed it back, his forehead damp with perspiration which slipped occasionally down the sides of his head. It helped hold his hair back relatively effectively and the damp texture kept it securely on top of his head, aside from the occasional chunk which slipped down again and stuck firmly to his forehead.

The Prussian nodded, stumbling over to the table of champagne, Feliciano helping him to walk without falling over - having Gilbert, the love of his life, injured in any shape or form was the last thing Feliciano wanted. He whispered gentle words to him as they headed over together, Gilbert’s arm around Feliciano’s shoulders, their hands intertwined with one another to keep Gilbert on his toes. Gilbert reached for one of the several still-full bottles of champagne sitting on the table, but Feliciano guided his hand away, bringing him to the kitchen with the wine rack they’d installed together. There was no need to take more of the drug than need be, since too much could harm a person. The Italian picked up one of the light green bottles by the neck and carried it and Gilbert back to the table where they’d been sitting. Feliciano struggled under the weight, not used to carrying anything. Even in the training Ludwig had made him go through a while back, he didn’t force the Italian to carry much, and Feliciano panted as he lowered Gilbert back into his chair. He put a firm grip on the albino’s shoulder, rubbing it a couple of times before turning and heading in the other direction. “Liebchen, will you get Mattatt the recorder, it’s in our room I think,” he paused, “Yep it’s in the drawer on the bedside table.”

“Okay!” Feliciano sang out with a grin, planting another gentle kiss on Gilbert’s forehead, “I’ll get it!”

Gilbert tried his best to pour the wine as Feliciano walked away, calm as he surveyed the madness happening around him. About half of the wine that left the bottle ended up on the table, floor, or Gilbert’s lap, but he didn’t care, laughing everything off as a joke despite the stains in his suit. Matthias laughed too, the sound of it overpowering and jovial, a rumble that came deep from within him as he slammed a hand down on the table for emphasis, shaking his head. With one finger he poked at the soiled tablecloth, pinching the fabric between his fingers as a little of the light liquid dribbled onto Matthias’ fingers, which he licked off with an air of satisfaction. Gilbert was on verge of asking Alfred to join them in their drinking, now that he had his hands on the fruity Italian wine, but Alfred was already occupied with receiving love from the Russian, his arms still wrapped tightly around his scrawny body. Gilbert took a sip at his glass, anxious for Feliciano to return with the recorder for Matthias even though the Dane hardly knew how to play and would undoubtedly smash this one as well. It had been brought along as more of a possibility, in case they had the chance to listen to more playing. Knowing in the back of his mind how delirious they both were, Gilbert’s own head swimming with unusual thoughts and feelings, he had a feeling that convincing Matthias to play would be worth a decent amount of entertainment.

“Where’s Norge?” Matthias asked suddenly, looking up from his finger with residue on it. He waited a second, and hearing no response, shrieked out into the large room to no one in particular, “NORGY ORGY! Where are you? Come join for the booze, we got a lot to drink! There’s some fancy vineyard stuff from Feli, come and get it. You’re gonna like, I know!”

“Don’t call me fucking Norgy Orgy.” A head peeked out from behind the wall, still looking a little bit cautious. 

Matthias laughed, “C’mon over, unless you’re gonna grab me some munchies.”

Lukas’s face bore an expression of someone who was both bored and light-headed, undoubtedly Lukas’. He glared out at the Dane, who still had about three of his fingers in his mouth, a stretched out grin on his face. “I’m having a snack, go away Matt,” his voice was still whispery and calm, like it always sounded to Matthias, but the tone fluctuated, going up and down like the animals on a carousel. As if he had read Matthias’s thoughts, Lukas spoke, “No, you can’t have more. There was only one.”

“That’s fine,” Matthias rolled his eyes with a light chuckle, “I’ve got all the booze I need right here!”

Lukas headed back into the kitchen, dolefully - he’d hated the nickname thought up by the Dane, ‘Norgy Orgy’, and he wouldn’t have been opposed to revenge for it. Still, he had a substantial soft spot for him, and doing any kind of harm towards the man he loved would have been regrettable to the Norwegian. He stared back at the little object he’d found earlier, sitting quietly on the solid granite counters. It had been small and yellow in the shape of a bird, and reminded Lukas substantially of a sugar candy peep. It had been resting quietly in a pan for the past couple minutes, since Lukas didn’t want someone else to find it and eat it before he got the chance. He took off the lid, running a soft finger over it for a second before checking the oven temperature. For a split second, it sounded like it made a sound almost like a chirp - but that couldn’t be, Lukas realized, not when it was nothing more than a candy.

He gave a light tug on the side of it. It had a rather soft texture, and in a moment Lukas had brought it to his lips, taking a bite. Actually getting the chunk of it out was harder than he’d initially thought for a sugar candy, and it certainly wasn’t as sweet as he’d imagined. He held it by the beak portion of the bird, feeling it cooler and a little harder than the rest of the object, which felt warm. He chewed for a few seconds, at last swallowing the semi-salty piece that he’d chosen. It would undoubtedly taste better once he had cooked it, Lucas decided, and popped it into the decently preheated oven.

He sat, staring out the dark window while it cooked. A few minutes passed, and Lucas had nearly dozed off. He could hear screechy recorder and loud, Danish cussing coming from the other room, still almost asleep. The party was going strong, but a throbbing headache had started to grow and even through the pain he could feel himself drifting off easily. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but rather one of substantial relief. Lukas was jolted back to reality when the sound of plastic smashing against wood came from the other room, followed by a loud “FUCKING RECORDER!” and then a sob.

Lukas forced himself to hop off the stool, heading into the room with Matthias in it. “Den, shut up about your recorder - hold on, didn’t you break that one?”

“No I didn’t eat a cat, why would you think that Norge?

“Look, I’m not asking you about cat eating, you moron. I know you broke your last recorder, and this isn’t it. Where did you find another recorder to fail at and destroy?” he pet the side of the Dane’s face affectionately, moving his chin so he could meet the gentle blue eyes as they blinked away tears.

Matthias looked away, back at his glass of wine. “I love you, stop being mean to me,” his voice was whiny, almost childish. He put his larger hand on top of the small, cold Norwegian one, running his thumb over the man’s boney knuckles. “You’re the butter to my bread.”

Lukas smiled at the mention of butter, which he practically worshipped. He’d been thankful that Feliciano let him bring a significant amount, especially because in his case, a little butter deprivation went a long way. He was about to bring it up in the form of a compliment when a voice interrupted his thoughts. “Brauhaus, you cooking something? Smells good, I want some.”

Crossing his arms firmly in front of his chest, Lukas shook his head with a frown as he headed back into the kitchen. “Not for you. It’s my snack.”

“At least let me see what it is,” Gilbert stood up, tripping over his ankle as he nipped at Lukas’ heels, eager to see the creation. 

Lukas bent over, trying to make out how done the bird shaped object was. When he couldn’t quite tell from the basic examination, he opened the door, using the dish towel Feliciano had left hanging around the oven handle to safely pick up the pot, lid or top. He pulled the heavy iron top off, looking with satisfaction at his work. Gilbert reached over with one finger, poking it a couple times before his face contorted into a look of shock. “Fucking Gott that’s Gilbird,” his eyes widened, scanning Lukas’s remorseless face as the Norwegian picked up the object and tried to take another bite, “YOU’RE EATING MY FUCKING PET!”

He snatched the object out of Lukas’ mouth and cradled it close to his cheek, giving what used to be its head a gentle kiss as he looked at the now-charred outside of the bird’s yellow downy feathers. Gilbert narrowed his eyes at the Norwegian, hissing at him bitterly, “You fucking bird murderer. Birderer. That’s the last time you birder anyone, you dummkopf,” he held Gilbird’s remains until he could look into the frozen beady black eyes of his pet, “Oh Gilbird, I’m so sorry - it’s all my fault for letting you out of my sight just to get birdered - if you can ever find it in your heart to forgive me-“

“Give me the bird and I’ll magic it back,” Lukas made a grab for it, but Gilbert turned, keeping it lifted above his head - a safe distance away from the other man’s prying hands.

He shook his head firmly, pouting. Gilbert still hadn’t fully been able to process everything that had happened, the idea of Gilbird being dead not quite hitting his full understanding yet. Sure, the bird was dead, but the haze in Gilbert’s mind limited acknowledgment of this. “No. You’ve done enough damage as is, no need to go fuck up my pet more with your so-called magic.”

“It’s not so-called!” Lukas spat, “I can do it. If you don’t want your stupid bird back, that’s your problem.”

Feliciano walked into the room, quickly assessing the situation to the best of his ability - which turned out to be pretty poorly. “Oh, is it dinner? Ooh, Lukas, this looks good - what do you call it?”

“Feli!” Gilbert slumped over onto the Italian’s shoulder, and Feliciano struggled to hold him up for a moment before regaining balance. “This is Gilbird! This son of a bitch cooked him, can you believe it? Are you saying you want to eat my pet?”

Feliciano wrapped his arms around Gilbert’s chest, letting the head of soft white hair rest in the crook between his shoulder and neck, trying to use the embrace to comfort the man. He still wore his typical smile, although seeing the dismay on his lover’s face made his heart ache. He patted the back of Gilbert’s head with a tender touch, his face contented as he held the Prussian close to his chest. “No Gil, I’m not. You’re tired, want me to take you up to bed? It’s always nice to have a good rest and a tasty breakfast after spending time with your friends and kissing their butts, come, we can go to sleep together!”

Gilbert yawned, setting the remains of his bird down on the counter. “All right, let’s go to bed.”

Feliciano wound his hand around Gilbert’s, entangling their fingers as they started for the staircase, a room over. Already, different guests had started to come down from their state of high delirium, the din that had grown in the room falling down little by little. Gilbert trudged, pleased to be by the Italian’s side even though he wasn’t doing a particularly good job of helping him along. Feliciano’s knees buckled and his breath caught, guiding the Prussian’s hand to grasp the bannister as soon as he managed to get him to the base of the stairs, no longer worrying about having to hold Gilbert on his physical person. Feliciano followed as Gilbert took his first steps towards the top, leaning forward to make sure he wouldn’t fall, although it took significant effort. With a gentle pat on the back, Feliciano gave a quick reassurance, “Go on, you’re almost there.”

Yekatrina watched them from the corner of her eye. She’d calmed down more, no longer feeling like a little girl with all the potential in the world. Vaguely, she remembered Natalya leaving her side, running up the stairs for the second time, saying something about being sick. Yekatrina pursed her lips, regretting returning to the party when she should have been there - there to support and to love the woman she dreamed about so often. Even though she had tried her hardest to avoid it and had been successful for a while, Yekatrina knew she’d surrendered her heart to the young Belarusian - even though she could never hope for anything to be reciprocated, just being able to spend constant time with the woman was enough. Now that coherent thought had started to return to her, Yekatrina’s chest ached for Natalya, and with a significant amount of resolute, she stared back for the room. The wide passageway at the top of the stairs felt empty and strange to her even though she could hear subdued whispers coming from the other room, clearly belonging to Feliciano and Gilbert. Yekatrina shook her head, creeping into the room she shared with Natalya.

The light was on at a surprising volume, and Yekatrina shielded her eyes at the sudden change. She scanned the beds over, and seeing the sheets still perfectly tucked into the base of the bed the way the Ukrainian had left them. Yekatrina frowned, deciding then to check the closet. It had been at least an hour since Natalya had gone upstairs, and she’d been so insistent on sleeping that it didn’t make sense why she wouldn’t have touched the bed. On the floor, Natalya had left the pain relief capsules out, a couple resting on the looped wool rug. Whatever Natalya had done, she’d been in some sort of a rush - that much was clear to Yekaterina. She glanced in the closet, but she didn’t need to look to know with full confidence that Natalya wasn’t in it. Yekatrina sighed, about to turn around when she noticed the back of a steel padlock through the tiny crack in the knife cabinet. Curiously, she tried to pry open the door, and finding it locked down completely gave up. Her heart palpitated in her chest, practically racing as she left the room, her search only becoming more phrenetic.

Yekatrina checked each doorway, just trying to see if Natalya was in any of the rooms. Most of the lights were off, or the doors even closed and locked - although that was only in a few extreme circumstances, like Russia and America’s room. Natalya knew for a fact Russia had an overprotection complex with his vodka, and probably kept the place closed up so no one would get into it. She would have laughed to herself thinking about it, but Natalya missing meant much, much more. Yekatrina bit her lip, about to give up search and go back to the first floor when something on the stairs to the third floor caught her eye. She wandered over, and within an instant recognized the fabric: the long ripped pieces of what could only be from the dress she’d bought Natalya. Without a second thought, Yekatrina ran up the stairs to the next floor, her feet padding gently as she ran. Since she still was barefoot, it was simple to go without making a sound.

At the top of the stairs was another door, a wide hallway, and a staircase ascending from the ceiling. That, Yekatrina knew, would take her to the attic - but first, it would be worth it to check in this other room. A strange red glow came from the inside, the only light Yekatrina had to see by. It was a little bit frustrating to have such an inability to see, but Yekatrina dismissed the notion. As long as she had enough to see if Natalya was there, that was all she needed. Upon entering the room, she coughed at a rough smell. The stench was reminiscent of excretion - or something, Yekatrina couldn’t quite put her finger on it as she inhaled again, much to her disgust - but also something rusty. Yekatrina coughed, feeling the abrasive nature of everything in her lungs. Like so many before her, her head throbbed, still not fully recovered from the drug - but it didn’t matter. Natalya was the only thing that did. Yekatrina pinched her nose shut, letting her eyes drift over the furniture and countertops, all laced in red light. She was about to head out of the room and scour the attic when she heard a soft moan come from the corner of the room. 

Yekatrina rushed over, forgetting to hold her nose closed as she ran over excitedly. What she saw took her more by shock than many things had in the past. Natalya lay on the floor beside a large, leather chair, her hair spread out all around her like a halo. Her eyes - although open - stared blankly at the ceiling, the daring sparkle she’d had in the iris for so long having disappeared. Yekatrina felt her breath catch. She let a hand down to cradle the side of Natalya’s face, feeling her soft skin coated in blood and thick vomit. With the corner of her skirt, Yekatrina did her best to wipe it off, still feeling Natalya’s shallow breathing on the palm of her hand. “Natty… say something…” she murmured.

Natalya moaned, her head flopping over to the side closer to the Ukrainian woman, who only took the new access to wipe off her lips a little more. Yekatrina could feel her own stomach burn, doing everything she could to prevent herself from letting the contents of her stomach spill onto the floor next to Natalya. Along with the tears, Yekatrina could feel snot dripping out her nose, and she swabbed it off with her wrist. With a forgiving touch, she set her hands on either side of Natalya’s face, feeling her sickly warm cheeks against her palms. “Please… talk… it’s going to be okay… I’ll help you…”

Weakened, Natalya shook her head, unable to blink. It didn’t matter anyways, her eyes were sightless. She wheezed at trying to speak. “No… I’m going to die…”

“You can’t die! I love you!” Yekatrina cried, stroking her bangs back as her tears ran down her cheeks, dripping onto Natalya’s dazed face, “We aren’t married yet, and… and you don’t know how much I love you! I’ll never forgive myself if you die, please, you’re going to recover!”

“Nnn,” Natalya coughed, her words slow and labored, “I love you too. Just… say goodbye to Ivan for me. I wish I had time to marry yo-“

Spitting up more blood onto her chin, Natalya’s words ceased, her chest falling for a final time. Yekatrina held her breath, her hands still in the long, tan hair. She undid the bow on Natalya’s head, and pocketed it. The world around Natalya’s lifeless body had fallen away and there was one thing Yekatrina knew, more than she’d known anything before in her life: she had failed. From deep within her chest, she let out a strangled wail, burying her head in her hands before looking up at the room again. Her eyes settled upon the sharp pair of scissors Natalya had seen earlier as a potential defense mechanism. Maybe had the circumstances been different, none of this would have happened. Yekatrina hated herself for making Natalya come to this god-forsaken place, for being the only one to blame for her death.

Her hands found their way around the solid metal of the scissors, comfortable with the weight in her hands. The blades were about twice the length of Yekatrina’s hands, and it was almost a relief to hold them. The tears had stopped, Yekatrina feeling herself come to a strangely eerie calm as she stood, looking at Natalya. The body was still mangled, and even though before Yekatrina had felt overpowering rage, that too had vanished. She opened the scissors wide, positioning the metal on either side of her neck so that the front third of it was touching some part of the blade. Yekatrina exhaled, an expression that could only be described as longing on her face. She gave an angelic smile, half of her face in darkness, the other half aglow with red light. “Goodbye, Natty,” she whispered in a honeyed voice, raw with sorrow, “I’ll be with you soon. I love you.”

With a swift motion, she snapped the blades closed, gasping at the sudden lack of air as blood started to seep from the deep sever she’d made in her windpipe and arteries. It was a clean cut, almost like the ones Natalya used to imagine with her knives. The once-smooth blades were now sullied, coated in Yekatrina’s thick maroon blood. She sputtered, her body trying to grasp more air that wasn’t there, and she knew that she only had a few seconds left as she sunk to her knees beside Natalya, resting her head down on the young woman’s stomach, partially covered with fabric as the Ukrainian heaved, the taste of familiar iron filling her mouth. She did her best to position her head to look at Natalya’s face, deprived of its former beauty and glory. “Love you-“ Yekatrina mouthed out the words, no longer able to speak. Many times in her life, she’d cried over loss - well, not anymore, not this time - she’d die before that happened. Her eyes closed, the last thing she saw being Natalya - and in its own twisted way, Yekatrina knew she’d succeeded. Now they’d be together, the only thing she’d wanted.

From the outside of the room, the sound of footsteps running in vain grew louder and louder until the door flew open. Had anyone in the room been alive, there would have been someone to hear the scream of desperation which echoed through the entire manor. Just enough time had passed for someone to survey the area, to see the three dead bodies in a row behind the large red leather chairs, and to leave. The door shut behind the person as they ran off, the footsteps getting quieter and quieter.

In under a minute, Feliciano had reached the ground floor, winded from sprinting down the stairs. “Help,” he panted loudly, many of the guests turning suddenly to see the Italian bent over the high wooden bannister, eyes wide and faced drained of color, “I was… they’re all… Natalya… ve~” Feliciano eased himself towards the bottom step, tucking his head into his trembling knees. He refused to look at anyone, his stomach churning. “I… don’t know… not… anymore… dead…”

The guests who had noticed took a moment to exchange glances with one another before Tino stepped forward, more confidence on his rosy face than most people had seen for a long, long time. With a nervous nod of encouragement from Matthias, he spoke up. “Show us.”


	4. Flowers On The Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First off want to thank my awesome discord family for all the help in brainstorming, and I'm officially excited to say this story is off to a decent (terrible) start! Enjoy a chapter of some angst and some fluff, tried to keep this light before getting more into everything. Oh, side note: the names of the chapters are all song names, so google them and you'll probably be able to get songs that semi-fit the theme of the chapter. Just thought I'd put that out there, gotta love that music!

The rumble of footsteps as the majority of the guests made their way up the wide staircase shook the walls, the ornate paintings jostling out of place occasionally. Even in the heat of the moment, Francis pulled Arthur back by the hand, pointing at one depicting the center of the Italian city Florence. The large limestone building stood high, the perfectly white capitol building standing strong against the vividly blue sky, a wide variety of plants by the base. The cobbled streets had been hand-painted with great care and attention to detail, the little stones almost photographic in nature. In fact, Francis would have been convinced that it was indeed a photo had he not noticed the uncanny lack of people. Florence, a typically bustling city, was usually brimming with people - especially near the main building. He would have expected at least a single tourist, or even a street cleaner washing up after the long day, and yet no people could be found. “Angleterre, look at this,” he pointed, his face still flushed pink.

The Brit stared for a few moments, trying to get his eyes to focus on a single part of the work, but too little success. He shook his head. “What about it? Nice picture I guess,” he frowned, still pausing the walk to stand by Francis’ side. Truth to be told, no one had taken much time to look at the actual design of the house aside from their own rooms, which had been arranged almost immaculately before anyone came. 

“Don’t you see something wrong?” Francis asked, still holding Arthur’s arm, “Look at it this way, mon amour - there are no people. In France, the landmarks always have people, and they are busy. Perhaps it’s just so with the city of love, but it’s strange to me here - where are the people?”

Arthur pulled Francis along after him, his large eyebrows bent down to give him a look of annoyance. Francis followed along, Arthur dragging him quickly through the back of the group of people. “Of course there aren’t people, you wanker. It’s a painting - a very well done one at that, but still just a painting. That means it’s not real, and so the painter can do whatever the hell they want,” he groaned, Francis catching up to him, “My head hurts. I’m going to bed as soon as we get this body thing over with. Everyone’s bloody drunk, there must’ve been something in that drink.”

“You’re going to sleep?” Francis asked with a hiccup, shooting Arthur an affectionate smile, “You surely wouldn’t mind if I… joined you? In fact, we don’t even have to sleep-“ he laughed, his thick French accent becoming remarkably apparent.

Arthur sped up nudging Francis marginally away from him. He felt himself blush slightly more than he had been, and he looked away, his emerald eyes staring pointlessly at the floor. Arthur coughed a couple of times, Francis hooking his arm in Arthurs with a pleased hum. Arthur had felt a little bit different around the suggestive Frenchman more recently, but it wasn’t anything he was willing to admit. They’d known each other for so long - but as time passed, Arthur debated saying something, day in and day out, but he never knew the right time, the right words. While they were walking to see corpses of their friends, Arthur convinced himself it wasn’t the place to say anything. “Shut up, you bloody French wanker!” he exclaimed, “We aren’t even together, and you’re trying to… to do whatever that is… you know what, sleep in your own bed! We have separate rooms for a reason!”

Francis gave a low chuckle again, and rested his head on Arthur’s shoulder as they headed down the hall, now significantly lagging behind the rest of the group. Arthur couldn’t say it wasn’t nice, having Francis by his side, his lush blond hair tickling the Brit’s neck slightly. Maybe it was because he was still drunk, or maybe it was because of the feelings he tried so hard to hide, but the corners of Arthur’s mouth quirked up into a pleased smile, and he closed his eyes slightly. Even if there were corpses, a part of him didn’t care about that - that was the future, not the moment - and at this moment, he had the world.

Arthur’s thoughts were interrupted by a voice, calling out to him. He snapped up to attention, looking around for the source. He took a second to focus on Tino, who was dragging Peter over to the couple with one hand. His face was red too, and he staggered with as much speed as he could over to the two men. Peter himself bent over as he followed Tino, a forbidding hand on his stomach, his nose crinkled up like he was disgusted by something. “Please,” Tino started, “If… if Berwald is there, I don’t want Peter to see. I can’t imagine what it would do to him, to see his father- you know- I don’t want to say it in front of him but I hope you get the gist-“

“Of course,” Francis reassured, taking Peter’s hand and pulling him closer to himself and Arthur, “We’ll be waiting in Arthur’s room when you get back. Now, go,” he watched as Tino hurried back to the front of the group, pushing his way through the crowd with rough and anxious hands, “Now, Peter. How about we play a game?”

Tino panted, jogging alongside Ivan, who had realized his two sisters were missing. Alfred stayed by his side, doing his best to soothe the man so he wouldn’t be so worried, so he could calm down, but nothing seemed to help. He brushed Ivan’s silver locks, trying to stay cheerful and encouraging even though he could feel his own heart sinking at the way the Russian ignored him. More than anything, Ivan did want the attention, he wanted to lie with Alfred in a chaste embrace - but the potential loss of Natalya and Yekatrina was too great, and he had to ut off time with the American. “Dude, I’m sure they aren’t there. Why would anyone kill them? They’re probably sleeping now or something - Yeka looked pretty tired-“

Although Alfred could rarely understand what was happening, never knowing how people were feeling, this time he could. Sometimes he did follow each and every emotion, but those times hurt more than anything the young American knew - and as time had passed, he’d found it easier and easier to ignore others and focus on himself, putting aside the pain he got from caring. This time, however, it was different - he couldn’t let Ivan ache like that. The Russian bore an innocent grin on his face, but Alfred had known him long enough to feel the tortured nature behind his expression, knowing he’d been beaten down and had his heart shredded more times than nearly anyone else. Ivan appeared innocent, but if anything, he was the farthest of anyone from it. Alfred held his hand as they neared the top of the stairs - he didn’t necessarily believe Feliciano himself, all of the talk of having bodies in the red room, but there was no reason not to go check it out. Even if there were, it sounded like one of the spooky tales Arthur used to tell him before bed, waiting for the boy to doze off into dreamland each night. In those stories, however, there would always be some form of redemption in the form of magic, and the villain would either be punished or forced to change their ways. Something told Alfred that if there were bodies, there wouldn’t be some magical, celestial force to come in and solve all of their problems in the time it took to snap his fingers. “Dude, calm your tits, we’re almost up there. We probably won’t find anything, okay? Look, both of us are still pretty drunk, maybe that’s all that happened with Feliciano.”

“I need to know they aren’t there,” Ivan sighed, his cheery expression still forced, “After all, they have yet to become one, right? They can’t die before we’ve become one - except Natalya,” he shivered, “I want her back, but I still don’t want to become one with her.”

Near the back of the group, Lovino was trying his best to comfort his brother, still not entirely understanding what had happened. Before anyone was invited to the wedding, Feliciano had been practically on his knees, begging Lovino to not attend - which Lovino couldn’t agree with, there was no reason for him to miss his younger brother’s wedding, even if he didn’t necessarily approve of his fiancée. Lovino’s stomach churned as he patted Feliciano’s limp shoulders gently, not entirely sure what he could say to provide any form of comfort. It wasn’t his wheelhouse really, and almost every time Lovino thought of something comforting to say, another part of his mind nixed it and he was back at the start, searching for something to say. He handed Feliciano the white, embroidered handkerchief that stuck out of his right breast pocket, hopeful that maybe that would be enough to help. Feliciano accepted it sadly, blowing his nose three times before using the opposite corner to wipe the tracks of tears off his cheeks. For such a happy-go-lucky man, Lovino knew that there must have been something in the room - whether or not it was actually bodies like he’d claimed was a different story, but the list of things that would scare Feliciano into legitimately crying - nearly unable to speak, his body trembling - was a different story. “Thank you fratello,” Feliciano smiled through his blurry eyes, and headed away from Lovino, “I have to be in the front, I’ll go there now. I’ll give you this back later,” he waved the little white fabric in the air, almost like he used to do with his white flag.

Lovino gave a dry snicker and Feliciano skipped off in front of everyone as he stepped first into the room. The guests took a moment to let their eyes adjust, traveling from the pitch black hallway to the blood red room. Feliciano took a deep, labored breath as he led everyone inside, pointing at the leather chairs. “I didn’t have enough time to look through… but it’s more than one person… go see for yourself…” He headed back to the doorway, collapsing into Lovino’s arms, tears spilling from his eyes and down his burning cheeks.

Tino was the first to make his way over, collapsing to his knees beside the largest body, immediately recognizing it as his husbands. He ran his hands over Berwald’s face a couple times, feeling the broken glass on his own fingertips. It hurt, and he tried to pull out a couple shards before realizing that made it worse, the cold wound underneath ugly and apparent under the abrasive light. Tino felt a knot form in his throat, choking up as he looked at the lifeless gaze in Berwald’s eyes, his face frozen in a permanent look of relaxation. His lips fell into a faint smile, one Tino himself had seen about enough times to count on his fingers. It was a look of peace and joy, Tino caught it very rarely - like when he had been asleep and opened his eye, Berwald smiling about six inches from his face. Or the time he’d been singing and dancing around the kitchen, making the two of them dinner when he noticed Berwald’s head poking around the corner, a soft smirk on his lips. It didn’t come often and when it did, Tino felt his heart flutter. Now, that little secret look stayed with him forever - he knew Berwald had been in pain when he died, the hair on the back of his head coated in a layer of blood only further proving this to the Finn. “Berwald…” he whispered and hung his head, the little white barrette he wore falling onto Berwald’s chest.

Tino bent down and planted a soft kiss on Berwald’s cold cheek, no longer alive like he’d been only a matter of hours ago as he’d headed off for this room. Without a single tear, Tino picked up what was left of his glasses, pocketing them before covering up his eyes with the barrette. He stood up, facing the rest of the guests. His cheerful smile had evanesced, in its place an ashen expression. His voice had lowered significantly as he snarled out his words. He sounded as if he was muffling his own voice, just barely able to stop himself from yelling. “I will say this once, and only once. Which one of you motherfuckers murdered my fucking husband? Either you speak now, or I will find you and torture you, you shitlord, until you’re begging for your fucking death. And if you so much as think about touching Peter-“ Lukas put an airy hand over Tino’s mouth, pulling him aside.

“Stop it Tino,” he sat down against the wall with the Finn in the corner of the room, “Raivis is here, don’t scare the children. That aside,” he took his hand off Tino’s lips, whispering in his ear, “I can’t say I disagree, but I want to find out who did it first. If anyone did kill him here, do you think they’ll admit it while you look like you’re about to commit murder?”

Tino’s hand had balled up into a fist, but he relaxed it, his body shaking with rage. “No,” he let the tension in his chest fade away, burying his face in his arms, tucked up into a ball, “I guess you’re right. Oh God, how am I going to break this to Peter?”

“I don’t know,” the Norwegian man choked on something for a moment. He put two fingers into his mouth, pulling out a little yellow feather. He gave it a funny look, the corners of his mouth turning up into a half-hearted smirk, “Speaking of which, that bird did taste pretty good…” Tino shot him a glare before putting his head down, and Lukas’ face reverted to it’s typical expressionless appearance, “All right, just tell Peter the truth. You can’t go around pretending he’s still alive - how long could you keep that up? A day? Even saying he was mortally wounded would only delay the inevitable. We’ll find out who did this, it’ll be okay. I’ll drive you and Peter home tomorrow morning, and we’ll take Matthias too. We can plan from back home, but it’s probably better to get away from this place.”

“What about Berwald?” Tino glanced up with soft eyes at the mangled body on the floor, “Do we leave him here? I don’t want to leave him, Nor. Not here, not alone, not like this.”

For a moment, Lukas thought about petting Tino’s back, but remembering the look he’d gotten, he thought better of it and pulled his hand back to his lap. Maybe after this had ended, he’d go back to the kitchen and see about finishing the rest of Gilbird. Lukas shook his head, trying to snap back into the moment with Tino. “I don’t see what other choice we have. What’s done is done, and we might as well get out of here. Emil was keeping watch of the house, when we get back into cellular reception we can call him and see how he’s doing. He probably invited Leon over. Little bro always tries to be secretive but he’s pretty obvious. Anyway, we’ll be back home tomorrow, and we can see about picking up Berwald later on.”

Tino nodded feebly, making a little noise of surrender, his face still pressed down as he stared towards the ground. The world was swimming, and Tino felt his heart throb - he wished he’d gone with him, maybe he could have stopped all this - whatever this was - from happening. If he had accompanied Berwald, or asked him to come out and play with him and Peter - Berwald would have agreed, no questions asked, anything for his wife. Tino couldn’t help but blame himself, wishing he’d done something differently. “Okay. I guess you’re right, the best thing we can do is to get out of here. It’s clearly dangerous, and I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to Peter.”

“Fin, you didn’t kill him, and nothing will happen to Peter. I already told you, we’re going to leave tomorrow, break of dawn. You pack up for you and Peter, I’ll get Matthias to help me pack up. I don’t care if he agrees or not, I’m going to drag him by the tie out the door if he protests. Why don’t you go to bed, you’ve had a long enough night.”

Tino got up off the carpeted floor, feeling the broken glasses press against his chest in the pocket. It was little comfort as he headed for the door, taking one last longing look at Berwald’s body. Telling Peter what he’d seen would be the hardest part, watching him break down in tears. It would be all Tino would be able to do to avoid crying himself, staying strong as he held the little boy in his arms, the tiny body convulsing. He sighed, closing his eyes for a second as he hung his head. Never in a million years had he thought anything would happen to Berwald, the quiet, serene, and loving Swede, yet here they were. Tino living with his husband dead, perhaps never to be seen again. He could hear Francis laughing from Arthur’s room, Peter saying something in response. Tino waited in the doorway in repose, knowing that sooner or later they’d see him and he’d explain, the best a mother could. It wouldn’t be easy, but what other choice did he have?

Back in the room, Ivan stood looking over the bodies of his sisters, Yekatrina’s head resting overtop of Natalya, her face thick and sticky with still-fresh blood, and although the blood itself had stopped leaving her body, it was clear that the wound was fresh. Both of their faces were pulled into grimaces, simply because of circumstance. Alfred wrapped his arm around Ivan’s back, looking down at the sight with his own eyes, wishing he wasn’t seeing what he knew he was. Ivan giggled, his voice guiltless and unstable as he turned towards the door, Alfred by his side. “I guess… I guess after all this time, they really did leave me. Fredka, they said they wouldn’t, but that’s okay, I knew they would. I… I’m truly alone.”

“No Vanya, you aren’t alone,” Alfred held him tighter as they headed out the door, the crowd beginning to disperse back to their rooms, “You have, and will always have me, all right dude? It’s gonna be okay, I’ll even make you breakfast in bed tomorrow.”

Ivan let his shoulders sink with a sigh, searching his jacket pocket for the key to unlock their room. In his heart he knew Alfred was right, at the very least the young American would never leave him - the man was painfully loyal, always standing by his side no matter what happened. At first, they had teased each other, making it a game to come up with better insults. As time had passed and their bosses became friends, their view of each other changed significantly until they had managed this dating relationship which Ivan savored with all his heart, yearning to do everything he could to protect Alfred. Besides, if he could prevent the hurting he’d gone through for so long in Fredka’s life, it would all be worth it to make sure his love was okay. Chances that he’d be able to become one weren’t the strongest, but Ivan was happy just to be with the other man. His fingers wound around the key and he shoved it into the lock, reminded suddenly of the old days when this type of key was the only way to lock the door. 

Alfred headed in first, flicking the light switch. Earlier that day, he’d gone outside and cut a few of the sunflowers outside in the field near the davenport, putting them in a glass jar half-filled with water, and so they were sitting on the nightstand on the Russian’s side of the bed. He was especially proud of his work gathering them and making it look nice, especially since interior design wasn’t quite his specialty. He watched as Ivan eyed the sunflowers curiously, touching the little golden petals. His expression softened, and he stared over at Alfred through helpless violet eyes. “You… you got me flowers?” he asked, the center of the flower scratchy against his fingertip, but it was comforting at the same time too, “These are my favorite! Thank you Fredka!”

The American blushed, sauntering over to Ivan’s side of the bed to hug him. “No problem dude! I saw them and I thought of you, there was no way I couldn’t get them!” 

It was true, as soon as he’d seen the flowers he knew instantly that he’d have to grab some for his lover, no matter what that meant. He was glad it seemed to make the Russian a little happier, especially given everything that had gone down. Alfred still had a little bit of a headache as he kissed the pale cheek softly, knowing that no matter the face Ivan wore, he was still broken up inside, wishing that he hadn’t lost his sisters. Even Natalya - sure, she stalked him with her knife, scaring the hell out of him when he least expected it - but losing her was never anything he wanted. Having Alfred so near to him decelerated his pounding heart, and he drew a long breath, Alfred’s head beside his. “You seem pretty tired,” Alfred started - he didn’t quite know if Ivan was tired, but it never hurt to go and try to look out for him, “Why don’t you go brush your teeth and start getting ready for bed? I’ll do it too, I think we can deal with the situation in the morning, all right? I’ll make you breakfast!”

“You don’t need to make me breakfast Fredka,” Ivan laughed, thinking of the burnt, store-bought food Alfred tried to make. He’d clearly inherited the bad cooking stills from Arthur, which always made Ivan’s heart a little lighter when he thought about it, “But you’re right, let’s get ready for bed. I’m tired anyway, you were right.”

Alfred beamed to himself at the marginal success, taking off his tuxedo top and casting it aside on the bed sheets. He wasn’t particularly fond of wearing such formal clothing, but Ivan had insisted that he wanted the two of them to wear matching suits and there was no way he could turn it down. He’d even bought Ivan a sunflower tie to wear for the wedding, which the Russian had been endlessly enthralled with. Being here in the warm Italian climate with the man he loved - there had been nothing more Ivan had wanted. That remained the case, until his sisters had turned up dead, and now Ivan just prayed everything would be all right. He wasn’t a particularly religious man, by no means, but as Alfred headed into the bathroom to comb his hair and wash his face, Ivan clasped his hands together and the edge of the bed. With all the thoughts in his mind he directed his attention to the heavens, his eyes shut tightly like a small child, trying to shield his face from a bright light. He heard the bathroom door open, Alfred’s footsteps growing louder. “Hey dude, it’s your turn!”

Ivan made haste to get up and headed into the bathroom, slamming the solid wooden door behind him. Alfred sat on the bed, swinging his legs for a few moments, letting his mind drift. His stomach grumbled, and after drinking the alcohol, he wished there was more food and less headache. He was about to go down to the kitchen and scour the place for some form of sustenance when he heard a knock on the door. “Come on in!” he called, and timidly Feliciano stepped in, brushing off his two black leather gloves with one hand, “Can I help you with something?”

“Mhm,” Feliciano chirped, looking up, “I wanted to talk to you alone for a minute, can you come with me? I don’t wanna talk here.”

Alfred got up, heading to the bathroom door. “Sure, gimme a sec,” he knocked lightly on the door, and upon hearing Ivan’s response, he spoke again, “Dude, I’m gonna talk to Feliciano in the other room real quick, I’ll be back when I’m done. You can head to bed, I don’t mind. I’ll see you soon anyway~”

He looked over at Feliciano and saw the little nod of agreement before trotting after him out the door. Alfred wasn’t sure where exactly they were headed, but it didn’t matter. He’d get this over with, and then be able to fall asleep beside his favorite Russian. Feliciano brought him down to the end of the hallway, where a little side corridor worked off. He hadn’t seen it before, and Feliciano hadn’t pointed it out during the house tour, but he didn’t mind. There was a door there, at the end of the passage, and Feliciano opened it up, headed in first as he turned on the light. It had been built comfortably too, a snug little desk with chairs on either side. Paperwork was piled up on the desk, some of the sheets old and worn. In the dim light Alfred couldn’t quite tell what any of them were, only that they had surely kept young Feliciano up many nights as he tried to work his way through the stacks and stacks of work. He took a seat in the chair closest to the door, waiting for the Italian to continue. “It’s going to be a minute, here’s a pretty picture I painted of Gilbird!”

Alfred took the object in his hands, looking at it with a dazed expression. It had been done messily, as if Feliciano was running out of time as he painted it, his hands shaking and hurried uncharacteristically. Alfred had seen some of the paintings he had done a long time ago, impressed by the immense work that he put into making each part thoughtful and detailed. This picture was nothing more than a scribbled blob, little orange lines coming out of one side, a little black dot representing the bird’s eye. He decided there wasn’t much of a point in overthinking everything, especially since it was so easy to let his mind focus on more interesting things - like how he could mentally design a happy meal. He wasn’t too much for imagination, but letting his mind wander to what Tony was doing back at his place and thinking about his friends who hadn’t come to the wedding was a nice break from everything. “I like the picture, but dude, isn’t there something you wanted to discuss?”

“Sure is!” Feliciano rummaged around in the shelves, at last settling in on the thing he had been looking for. He opened the cap on the bottle quietly, taking his own off-white handkerchief from his pocket. He poured a paltry amount proportion to what was in the bottle out onto it, watching it sink it. Feliciano could feel it on his fingers, the substance dripping uncomfortably over them. He closed his eyes for a second, hearing Alfred humming his national anthem cheerfully, his legs kicking against the bottom of the desk with a hollow sound. 

“Almost ready?” Alfred asked again, impatient as a small child on a car trip as he waited for the Italian to return, his fingers touching the little globs of oil paint that chunked up on the canvas.

“Mhm!” the man nodded, his auburn hair bouncing up and down. He inhaled first, then exhaled as he walked up behind Alfred, clamping his hand down over the other man’s mouth and nose, his other hand tipping the American’s head back so he’d have to breathe in the fumes coming from the liquid. 

Alfred shifted his weight in the chair, unable to avoid Feliciano’s hand, only able to breathe in the one scent. His body grew limp, and he sagged down into the soft orange cushions. Feliciano watched as he lost consciousness, reaching a tentative hand up to remove his glasses so they wouldn’t break. Upon seeing him stop moving completely, only the rise and fall of his chest, Feliciano dropped the cloth, letting it slip to the floor. He had no reason to pick it up. “Alfred…” he mumbled, looking at the American, “I’m sorry. I hope that you’ll forgive me.”

With prompt fingers, Feliciano pulled several cotton fabric pieces out of his pocket to start connecting the American to the chair. The room remained illuminated as Feliciano worked, trying to get everything done early so he’d be able to return back to his room with Gilbert, falling asleep in his arms like they did every night. He started to feel bad, his heart aching for Ivan - he’d lost two sisters in one night, neither of whom had been planned to be dispatched this early, but that didn’t matter. Feliciano knew he’d have to forget about that, this wasn’t something he could do too easily if he had anything weighing on his conscience. People would try to leave now, he knew with a bitter heart and his options were running out. In fact, this seemed like the last reasonable choice he had. He wound cloth around Alfred’s eyes, tying it firmly behind the back of his head, another piece rolled up and shoved in his mouth so he wouldn’t make a sound. 

With thick strips of rubbery material, he wrapped Alfred’s wrists to the arms of the chair, his ankles to the chair legs. He’d been smart to make this one a spinning chair, although it nearly wasn’t - had he decided that he liked the standard version without all the additions like the spinning nature and high headrest. With another rubber strip, his final one, he pressed Alfred’s forehead against the place for his head, keeping him secured and away from moving. Feliciano sighed, slipping past the back of the table to sit on the other side, his eyes focused on Alfred’s motionless face. It cut into him a little bit, but at the same time there wasn’t much else he could do. All this would happen at some point, and the easiest thing to do would be to keep himself hidden as long as possible. As soon as anyone discovered he was behind it, Feliciano knew he wouldn’t be hard to take out. He wasn’t strong, he wasn’t powerful, and the mere number of angry guests for murdering three people would doom him. No, he’d have to keep it anonymous. “And they always say I don’t pay attention…” he murmured as he stared, a little bit regretful at remembering the past where everyone treated him like younger, like a baby.

With one hand, he slipped the gloves over his hands. The sensation of having his hands bound by them brought him a little bit of comfort as he sat back in the seat behind the desk, staring at the little panel that canceled a switch. He flicked it, speaking into the little voice recorder at the bottom. It modulated the tone of his voice, projecting into the main hallway between all of the rooms. “Fredka?” Ivan stepped out of his room first, followed by a series of angry guests, “Where’s Fredka?”

“Will someone shut that up, it’s going to wake Peter!” Tino tried to hide his face, puffy from crying. In his hand he held several pieces of clothing, having been interrupted of his packing, “I don’t know about anyone else… we’re all pretty… busy.”

He got a nod of agreement from Vietnam, who had taken longer in getting out as she helped Taiwan, who tried to make it to the doorframe with her painful limp. The cornflower blue paint on the hallway did nothing to lighten the mood as everyone could hear a metallic voice speaking through somewhere, “You’ve probably noticed Mr. Jones is gone, yes?”

“That’s Fredka-“ Ivan murmured, trying to find the source of the voice with frantic eyes, searching and scanning for an answer, “Fredka, are you okay?”

“Sh-“ Nguyen gestured to him, moving her ear to hear more easily, “I’m trying to listen.”

No one came to comfort the Russian, but he had expected as much. The voice continued, either coming from the ceiling or the floor, but no one was exactly sure, “I want you to know that you are all welcome to leave… but if you do, he’ll be tortured to death in front of everyone to doesn’t leave- okay? All of you have to stay, that’s all - nothing else. Don’t leave, and don’t come looking unless you want to join him. Anyway, sleep easy, and don’t leave! Good night!”

The sound clicked off, like the transmission had ended. Ivan felt his heart race in his chest, more worried than he’d been before. It would practically kill him if anything happened to his Fredka and immediately he knew what he had to do. Many of the guests had started back to their rooms, Arthur going so far as to accept a hug from Francis before leaving to his room. Tino lobbed the clothes he’d been holding back into the room, storming off in defeat. Ivan knew that if he wanted to act, he had to act now. “I… I’d say we should try to leave,” he spoke up, several of the other guests turning back to him, “But I won’t… not with Fredka like that. He’s the last thing I have, the only one who hasn’t left me like everyone else did. Please stay- I’m sorry-“ the Russian looked at the floor, still smiling blithely as he spoke, “And when we’re done, I will take care of the person responsible with huge pleasure smile, da? We will all be happy!”

Feliciano undid the switch, and making sure everything was off, closed up the little panel which had been hidden in the wood of the desk. It was a comfort almost to know he’d made it this far under the radar. Secretly, losing Yekatrina was a bonus - he hadn’t planned it, it just worked out that way. He stared at Alfred, the man’s glowing blonde hair in stark juxtaposition to the violet iris wallpaper. He hoisted his body up on the desk off the chair, his feet planted on either side of Alfred’s thighs as he looked down on him. He lifted the American’s chin with a beguiling touch as he tried to disappear the regret he could already feel in his heart, instead replacing it with morbid satisfaction. “We’ve got a lot to do, ve~?”


	5. Bread and Butter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to all my ideas friends on Discord! This was - and I hate to say it - a relatively entertaining chapter to write, but anyway, here you go! The fifth part of story continuation (and in all honesty I'm surprised I made it this far)! This title has nothing to do with a song only because I couldn't find a suitable name, and we were left with this... Hope you all enjoy it, and look forward to more in the future!

Louis stared at the ceiling blankly and listened to the meditative rush of water from around him. One of the perks of purchasing the whole manor for Feliciano and Gilbert - his gift, since he had more than enough money to go around - was that he got to design his own room for the stay. The Luxembourger had drawn upon his affinity for the sound of water to create a room with a bed in the center on a circular platform surrounded up a pool. HIs swimming abilities needed work, but still he found it relaxing to have the consistent sound he was so fond of. He reached over to his bedside table where several rolls of cannabis sat, picking one up between his fingers. He set it on his chest and felt down his torso for the lighter he’d left in one of the stark white pockets in his vest, knowing all too well the smoke would help calm his mind from the events of the evening.

Louis hadn’t been particularly close with Natalya, Berwald, or Yekatrina - but the idea of a murderer who had somehow killed three people within a matter of hours made him nauseous. He put the stick up to his lips, inhaling the smoke and holding it in his mouth for a few seconds before exhaling, watching the cloud form up in the air around him. He’d been right - already, he could feel the intense anxiety he’d had in his heart fade away, which was more of a comfort than he knew how to explain. The roof was painted a light grey, nothing special, the cascading water drowning out all of his thoughts. His phone lay vacantly next to him on the bed. Before all of this had erupted, no one being able to leave, he’d tried to text boyfriend Basch as much as he could. When the joint had worn down to the end, he snubbed out the lit end and discarded it back on top of the bedside table with the unused one.

Louis flipped his phone over, trying to dial in Basch’s number. He’d complained about the general lack of wifi to him, to which Basch had asked why he didn’t just fix it with money. That was Louis’ solution to many problems in life, since there was a lot that money could fix if used inthe proper manner - like this wedding gift - when he couldn’t find something thoughtful for the couple, he just went with something unreasonably expensive. It wasn’t much of a problem, not with all of his banking in order. He felt the smooth surface buzz against his face. “Hello, Darling, how is everything at your place?” he asked.

“I just finished work for the evening, heading to bed now. You usually call in the afternoon, why this late? It’s almost two in the morning.”

Louis thought for a moment, “Oh, it’s two? I thought maybe it was… oh, never mind. I know I said I’d try to come back next week at the latest, and I know I texted you about heading back tomorrow, but there’s… been a change in plans.”

“You promised you’d be back, and besides,” Basch muttered, his voice a little quieter, “How come I’m expected to come back on time from everything, business or otherwise, and you can simply extend your visit?”

Louis glanced around the room. He remembered the voice, high and metallic, and something told him that telling Basch would almost definitely lead to his end. Still, that could be what saved everyone. “Louis? Did you hang up?” Basch asked, his voice starting to blur over with poor reception.

“No, I’m here and this is important, I-“ he heard the dull tone signaling the call had ended.

He stared at the no-wifi bar, propping himself up on his forearms to try and figure out what had happened. He’d have to talk to Feliciano about this, maybe he could get something installed - even if no one could leave the secluded manor, and no one would come, Louis was clever and he could figure something out given the chance. He put the phone back onto the bedspread and let his head drop back into the navy blue fabric of his pillow, his chest sinking as he sighed. Maybe it was time for another joint, his head still throbbing with the remnants of whatever had been in the champagne. It had to have been drugged, he knew that much - as the top drinker of anyone at the party, he’d never been this delirious in his life - and yet so shortly after drinking a mere three glasses had sent him over the edge. Louis frowned, thinking back to his strangely drunken state - there wasn’t too much that he could remember, but the amount he could recall was strange and warped. He reached out his hand again for more to smoke, his head still burned with thoughts although it was nothing more marijuana couldn’t clear up. He’d sleep soon, probably after he finished the thin roll of weed. Louis couldn’t want to leave this place, even though it once seemed like paradise.

* * *

Early the next morning, Francis crept into Arthur’s room quietly. Sure, they still weren’t allowed to leave the house, but no one had said anything about remaining in their rooms permanently. Francis watched Arthur sigh, rolling over to the other side of his pillow, his eyebrows curved upwards in a way that made him look peaceful and serene. it would be a shame to wake him, but Francis wanted more than anything to start talking to the Brit about everything that had happened last night. He too had developed some romantic feelings for the man, and living in a place where either of them could die at any moment put him on edge. It hurt his heart to think that Arthur might die without knowing Francis loved him and wanted to spend an eternity that perhaps neither of them would have. “Arthur, wake up. Angleterre, come on, it’s me, Francis.”

“You’re not my alarm clock,” Arthur moaned, turning in the direction of the voice, “What are you doing here? What time is it?”

Francis took this as a win off the bat given that Arthur hadn’t thrown him straight out of the room as he’d expected. Instead, he watched the Arthur push the covers off himself, revealing the top of his pajamas. “It’s eight in the morning, and I’m here to talk to you about… everything that’s happened. Here, sit up Angleterre, let’s talk.”

Arthur smacked his lips a couple of times, blinking his bleary eyes in the warm morning light. The warm sunlight washed over Francis’ face, and in Arthur’s sleepy mind he looked like an angel, already dressed in his dark violet cloak. It hung gracefully from his shoulders, his light golden hair making him look like an angel in Arthur’s eyes. For a second, he contemplated reaching out a hand just to feel it, already thinking of the soft nature he knew it had. Still, he restricted himself, recalling the evening piece by piece as he sat up in the bed and leaned against the unpainted wooden headboard. “I should get dressed,” he mumbled, making his way out from under the covers. He had back turned to Francis so he wouldn’t see his pajamas, “Then I’ll make you breakfast downstairs, how does that sound.”

“Oh Angleterre, you don’t have to… make me food,” Francis looked down at the bed, pulling the covers up neatly over the pillow while Arthur got dressed in the corner, “I just wanted to talk is all - about all of these non-fabulous happenings. Three people - and while I can’t say I knew any of them well - three is an alarming number. That aside… Berwald is said to be pretty strong - or he looks it with that large body - how did they get him?”

Arthur rolled his eyes, done changing as he headed over to sit beside Francis on the bed. It wasn’t typical for Francis to have apprehensions about anything outside of himself, which snapped the Brit into reality: whatever was happening, something was wrong enough for it to have gotten past Francis’ thick skull and brought him into the area of worrying about others. Arthur sighed, looking away, “I don’t know. We didn’t go up there, remember? I’m sure his body is still there if you really feel the need to look, no one’s leaving the house anyway. Quite frankly, I’m glad we stayed down here with Peter - unnecessary trauma is good for no one.”

“I know - but what if something were to happen to someone as beautiful as me?” Arthur glared at him, and Francis left to amend his statement, “Or you, too, I suppose. It would be a shame if something happened to you, but not as much of a shame as if something happened to me.”

Arthur hung his head with contempt, fiddling with the starched white tag that stuck out of the underside of his army green jacket. It was an older piece of clothing, but the Brit was still very much fond of it which was the biggest reason he’d elected to bring it along. Especially with seeing everyone he knew so well there, it would be an interesting bit of nostalgia for all those who remembered the days when he wore it all the time. That aside, he’d brought more casual and modern clothes as well, but being with Francis made him want to bring out the older wardrobe. “Yes. It’s not like I’m worried or anything, about Alfred, but…”

Francis shook his head, blond hair swinging from side to side as he wrapped an arm around Arthur’s shoulders, pulling him to lean on his side. “But you’re worried about him, aren’t you, Angleterre? I know you won’t admit it, you’re as stubborn as a mule sometimes, but you don’t know where he is and you’re worried. Now, you’re going to say you aren’t worried, but I know you better than that. I’ve known you for so long, Arthur, it would be impossible for me not to know. You don’t have to respond, I already know what you’re thinking.” Francis squeezed Arthur’s arm gently, again surprised that the Brit didn’t shove him away, maybe onto the floor. He seemed to be taking the loss of Alfred - the man he’d raised from the time he was a little boy - quite harshly, even though Francis himself believed that somehow they’d be able to get him back, “He’ll be okay, Angleterre. Don’t worry about it, I’m sure we’ll get him back and you’ll see him again.”

“I’ll see him when I get to heaven,” Arthur moaned, closing his eyes, “Yes, I want him back. Only because I don’t feel right about anyone being kidnapped, I’d be just as worried - which I’m not - if it were Ludwig or Lin or… or you.”

Even though he knew it wasn’t the place, Francis laughed softly as he looked around the room, his tired friend in his arms. The walls were a pale yellow and the rest of the place had been done up modestly, shining hard wood floors, an oriental rug in the middle - even a little painted picture on the wall, signed by Feliciano. In one corner was a large cedar wardrobe with four drawers, nearby which Arthur had changed previously. Much of the furniture in the room was finished but unpainted, giving the place a classic but semi-rustic look - even the darker wood seemed to fit neatly into the room. The window was high, almost too high to look out, but it let a comfortable light that rendered having much of a lamp useless. Despite this, from the celling hung a little metal fixture that almost resembled flowers - just enough for the man to feel relatively good about his set up. In terms of color there wasn’t much, but it didn’t matter since Arthur rarely found himself in the actual room itself. He’d been passing his days on the patio with a cup of tea in hand, enjoying the fresh air and quiet noises of the countryside. Arthur had always wanted to live in seclusion like this and while he did own a rather large house on the outskirts of London, he was needed much more often in the center of the city and thus kept his apartment as tidy as he could.

Francis let a hand creep up to Arthur’s head, petting his hair down affectionately. It often spiked up and Arthur had forgotten to smooth it down properly this morning due to his worrying, his bedded still very much prominent. He needed to somehow distract the Brit, who would indefinitely beat himself up about not being there and not doing something to prevent what happened to Alfred. As much as he hated to do it, Francis knew what would take his mind off it all. “Angleterre… I know you said something about wanting to make me breakfast. How about you go downstairs and do that, and we can eat together.”

Arthur sat up, pulling away from Francis for a moment. Ever since he’d heard the announcement the previous night, Arthur felt a sense of hopelessness. The boy he’d cared for so long - even if he was grown up now - was gone, and given the current state of affairs the chances that he’d come back were marginal. That was the real reason he’d let himself fall into Francis’ arms, his heart aching at the thought of anything happening to the remaining family he had left - to Francis or to Matthieu. Being able to do something this small would help, just to give him the feeling that he wasn’t completely useless and would be able to help. “All right, I’ll go make you scones,” he felt more cheerful, zipping up his coat so the zipper hung at the top of the neckline, “I have the perfect recipe, and I’ll make the two of us tea then.”

Francis sighed as Arthur smiled and left the room. He wasn’t particularly fond of the man’s cooking, and knew he’d probably have to choke it down while trying to keep his beautiful facewith a poker expression, so Arthur would never know how much he hated it. The scones were some of the worst things, and half the time Arthur burned them all the way to the center, making them completely inedible. Arthur himself would try to choke them down, his ego preventing him from admitting that maybe he needed help actually cooking - something Francis often did with a passion, but asking him would be too belittling. Francis took in a short breath, telling himself that no matter what Arthur brought back, he’d eat. For some strange reason, Arthur liked to add berries into the mixture - sometimes cranberries, which were acceptable even though Francis didn’t like them; sometimes gooseberries which were even less acceptable. Still, Francis cared about Arthur enough to make an attempt to eat some of the food of occasion. Given the mind Arthur seemed to have as he flew down the stairs, Francis watching from the doorway, it would be hell to eat the rock-hard, charred thing he’d be bringing back.

Arthur found his way to the kitchen, ready to get started. The scones recipe was simple and the other day he’d watched Francis make dinner with Feliciano, watching where to get each ingredient. Now, this knowledge could be put to good use. On the table was the remnants of the half-eaten Gilbird, which had been cut in half the previous night upon Lukas’ deciding that it would be senseless to leave something so tasty and edible. Arthur poked at it with a foreboding finger and averted his attention to trying to find the eggs. These were in the fridge beside the red and blue striped basin holding Lukas’ butter. Everyone had brought some piece of their lives into designing this house, it seemed, and walking around and finding little parts everyone had left made Arthur happy in a quaint way. His heart rose as he pulled out the large metal container that held the all-purpose flour. From his pocket he pulled out some dried cranberries and after finding a large metal bowl in the cabinet, he started to preheat the oven for when the cooking time would come. This recipe was his on-the-road one, using only flour, sugar, cranberries, baking powder, butter, and egg. It was a pretty straight forward, just mixing all the components together to form one greater mixture which he could pop in the oven for a quarter hour.

The Brit started combining everything in the metal bowl, his spatula clinking softly against the edge as he worked. It wouldn’t take that long. Feliciano yawned as he walked into the room, smiling at Arthur, “Ciao Signor Kirkland, how are you?”

“I’m fine,” Arthur replied coldly, “Just making a couple scones to have for breakfast with Francis is all.”

Feliciano nodded understandingly, himself sleepy from having woken up. He hadn’t promised Gilbert breakfast in bed, but it wouldn’t hurt to go downstairs and meet up with the other early risers like himself. It was a strange occurrence, thinking of himself as an early riser for once when in reality the truth had been he’d went to bed worrying, his eyes blank as Gilbert held him in his arms. For as long as possible, Feliciano wanted to keep everything tucked away from Gilbert until he was ready, until enough had happened. When he did everything yesterday, Feliciano had worked without remorse. Now it was all catching back up with him, the thoughts hitting him again and again in the head until he was ready to snap again and do more, gain more power. “How nice!” Feliciano replied, his tone as chipper as he could manage.

The Italian could feel his pity fading, the conflict in his mind giving in. Arthur looked up, watching as the oven heated up. “I’m going to go to the bathroom quickly, but I’ll be back in two minutes tops. Can you watch and make sure no one messes up the recipe?” Arthur had started telling himself that his failure in cooking was down to someone tampering between the time he made the batter and the time he put it in the oven, but with only the Italian awake he was relatively confident nothing would happen, “Thank you.”

Feliciano watched as the Brit headed up the stairs to one of the two large communal bathrooms he’d installed. Since most of the guests were men, it was simple to put a series of porcelain urinals in a circle in one room, tiling the floor in the customary Roman style. As he’d grouted, Feliciano smiled, thinking about how proud his grandpa Rome would have been, had he seen the work that went into the house. Upon certainty that Arthur was truly gone from view, he approached the bowl, taking a small vial out of his pocket. The liquid inside had a strong scent even as Feliciano uncorked it, letting everything flow out into the bowl. It was maybe two ounces when added together, and although Feliciano didn’t want the consistency of everything to change too drastically as he stirred it in, the liquid consolidating seamlessly into the dough. Feliciano stopped mixing, setting the wooden spatula back into the position it had been, leaning on the right side of the bowl.

He sat at the counter, swinging his legs against the island. Feliciano sang one of the little wordless songs he did sometimes, a cross between syllables and a lilting tune. He knew that with that much appeared ignorance, Arthur wouldn’t suspect a thing.

Arthur came running back down the stairs eventually, and upon seeing the oven preheated to the proper temperature he balled up the dough to form the scones, put them on the non-stick pan, and slid it in. “Thank you for watching it, I guess,” he said, trying to make his words just louder than Feliciano’s singing, “Not that anyone would have messed with it, it was just good to know no one did. Especially given the circumstances.”

“Ve~ of course!” the Italian paused, the room making his auburn hair shiny in a way even Arthur found it in him to be pleased about, “I’m worried about everything- I… I don’t want something to happen to Alfred… or Gilbert… I love you all so much!”

“Nothing will happen to him,” Arthur said in the same tone Francis had told him as they sat on his bed, “We’ll get him out somehow, everything will be fine. Right now it just doesn’t look particularly hopeful…”

Truth to be told, he had to admit the dubiety that hung in the manor, but there was no reason to trouble Feliciano any more than he already was. The man had just wanted to get married with some of his closest friends, in an isolated little villa on the Italian countryside - nothing Arthur could blame him for. The more Arthur thought about how happy the couple had been, their wedding, their friends, and the present circumstances, an idea came to him: after they’d finished their meal, he would… explain his feelings to the Frenchman. At least if one of them died - or both of them died - Francis would know his friend’s thoughts. Still, Arthur knew if he wanted to say anything he’d have to start building up the confidence now - admitting this to the wanker-frog would be one of the most degrading and difficult things Arthur had ever tried to do

Several minutes had passed, and Arthur smelt something burning. He jolted up, running to the oven frantically. He nearly smashed into one of the granite countertops, although he was thankful in his narrow avoidance. It would have been disastrous, he knew, and the fact that he hadn’t gotten hurt was a relief. Arthur slipped his hand around the slick metal handle, pulling it open. With his hand wrapped up in his handkerchief, he pulled out the pan by it’s handle and set it on top of the stove, looking in dismay at the two semi-burnt scones. Still, he held his head high as he plucked them off, searching a wooden cabinet for plates. He found one and picked the most salvageable scone, trying his best to make it look nice and appetizing. It hurt to admit his failure, but maybe Francis wouldn’t mind as much. Arthur boiled some water in the stove kettle, waiting to see the steam venting through the hole in the top before taking it off and pouring it into two china teacups. He added the tea; Arthur would be able to let it steep as he brought it back to Francis.

With a gloved hand, he gestured over at the scone that seemed less edible. “You can have it if you want,” he told Feliciano, “I have no use for it, and why let it go to waste?”

“Oh, no thank you,” Feliciano replied, starting his singing again in between phrases, “I’m okay! Ciao~”

Arthur rolled his eyes as he tried to balance everything in his hands. The paintings were a little uneven from last night, not completely lined up. Arthur silently promised himself that he’d walk through the main hallway that connected all the rooms. It was almost a room itself, the large floor rug and paintings that lined the walls. There weren’t windows, and yet everything seemed to be up lit in a spectral manner. In the corner was a chair that Arthur hadn’t noticed before, just outside the area where Feliciano and Gilbert’s doorway and the corner of the passage were. On the right side of that were the stairs, leading up to the fateful red room and attic. Just the day before, several people had allegedly went up to the attic, but its contents still remained a mystery to the Brit. Maybe after he had breakfast and confessed love, Arthur thought, he and Francis could check it out and see if anything was actually up there.

With a soft kick to open the door, Arthur entered the room. He let himself sink down beside Francis. “Here’s the scone for you. I made another one, but it didn’t turn out as well,” he smiled weakly, “Oh, and here’s a cup of the English black tea I brought.”

“What berry did you add this time, Angleterre?” Francis asked, taking the scone warily in his right hand, “I can’t quite tell from just looking at it.”

There were actually a wide variety of things he couldn’t quite tell from looking at it, the berries being the only one he could mention without offending the chef. He’d also have asked if it were actually a scone, since the way it appeared to Francis it also could have been a rather tasteless looking rock from outside. “I think you’ll know when you taste it,” Arthur smiled, watching Francis take a sip of tea and sniff at the scone, “It’s one of the ones you like, there’s your hint.”

This wasn’t useful information by any means, since none of the kinds Francis liked - rather, there were ones he pretended to like more than others so Arthur would be under the impression that the types of scone tasted different from one another and weren’t all awful pieces of garbage. Still, he had to commend Arthur for not setting off a fire alarm making these, and started by taking a bite. It was no larger than his fist, and Francis knew that if he devoured it down quickly he’d be able to down the tea and wash the taste out of his mouth. He took another bite. The taste was strong, and while the berries were noticeable as cranberries, there was another taste too. It was getting a little bit difficult for Francis to breath, and he slowed down between bites, doing his best to get in the necessary air. It almost felt like his lungs wouldn’t respond, tensing up in his chest. He made a face as he popped the final piece into his mouth with a gagging noise, dry heaving as he leaned forward.

“Well, I didn’t know they were that bad,” Arthur commented crossing his arms at the Frenchman. He couldn’t see Francis’ face, but he just knew it was taunting, jeering at him for being terrible at cooking. “If you hated them that much, you could’ve told me, you don’t have to eat the whole thing if it’s awful.”

Francis didn’t look up. In fact, the Brit’s words fell upon deaf ears as Francis tried in vain to breath, his chest seizing up every time he attempted an inhale. He made a pained, guttural gasp as he fought for the air which was no longer inside him, almost as if it were gone entirely. The scone wasn’t as bad as he’d thought it would have been, true enough, but what Francis felt now could only really be described as a heart attack - even though he’d never had one before, from all the things he knew in the world he was confident that this was what a heart attack would be like. Arthur thought for a moment - there was no reason to continue the joke this long… unless it wasn’t a joke. Panic gripped Arthur’s heart as he pulled Francis back by the shoulders, throwing him backwards into the bed. The teacup flew from the Frenchman’s hands, shattering to the floor, but Arthur didn’t notice. The only thing that mattered to him in the moment was getting Francis to respond, even if that was him sitting up and laughing. An insulting Francis was better than a dead one any day, and after he was done fooling around Arthur could possibly laugh with him, agreeing never to make the man another scone. “You frog, stop this!” Arthur scolded, trying to be loud enough over the incessant gagging of someone begging the world for air, “If you don’t like them that much, that’s fine! You don’t have to be such a jerk about it! I could have brought you Lukas’ cooked Gilbird corpse, you know! You better be bloody glad I didn’t!”

Francis dry-heaved again. He wanted to tell Arthur it wasn’t a joke, to shut up about this. Sure, he insulted the man sometimes, but not to this extent, he’d never go this far. From the bottom of his heart, Francis remembered how he’d wanted to say something to Arthur before they’d both died; now, this was only a thought in passing as he reached for air again, his eyes bugging out for him head disgracefully. Arthur wrapped his arms around Francis, holding him tight to his chest. Saliva dripped out of the corner of his mouth, each second feeling like an eternity as the stabbing pain in his chest grew and grew. “You… you wanker! Stop it!” Arthur tried to console him but to little avail, “Don’t.. die or something on my watch. And if you do, it… it wasn’t my fault! I didn’t put anything in the scones, nothing to hurt you.”

Francis had nearly given up, already knowing he was running out of air far too fast. He wished he could look beautiful as he died, clutched in Arthur’s weak arms, but he knew no such condolence would come. With his last bit of energy, Francis knew what he wanted to tell Arthur, but everything was going away too quickly and the words didn’t come out, only a strangled little moan. His body fell limp into the Brit’s arms, and ever so slowly Arthur eased him down to the mattress. “Francis…?” he asked, his eyes wide and startled. He waited a moment to no response before shaking Francis by the arms, feeling his blue suit under his hands, “Talk to me, you wanker!”

Still to no avail, Arthur brought him up and pressed the body against his chest again, the lack of heartbeat shocking him as he watched his friend’s skin pale. “Now I’ll never tell you how I feel, and it’s your bloody fault for dying. Oh God-“ Arthur stared into Francis’s blank blue eyes, his heart skipping a beat, “You ate my scone… and you’re dead. If… if no one touched the bowl… then the logical answer… is that I fucking murdered you,” he set Francis down in dismay, sweeping his hair back the way he liked it so the man would look handsome, “I’m… I’m so sorry Francis…”

Arthur leapt to his feet, pacing around the room as he pulled at his hair. It was difficult to process everything that happened, Francis dead, and his fault. His face burned with shame and embarrassment, for being so foolish and for losing the one man he truly loved and cared about. His brother was being held hostage, his love was dead, and Matthieu - who Francis had mainly raised - was now the only family Arthur had any confidence left to speak of. “No…” he whimpered, collapsing back onto the bed beside Francis, face first. He flipped over until he was staring at the ceiling, Francis’ cold hand clutched in his. Arthur drew in a hard breath, preparing himself before yelling out to the high heavens. “NO!”

Back on the first floor, Feliciano could hear the shout. He wrapped his hands around his own ceramic cup with an innocent smile on his face, still singing softly. He’d been expecting it for a while, but just how soon he didn’t know. With a swift motion, he hopped up and swept the other scone into the garbage - the only trace of evidence on how the man had died. From a little wooden cabinet built into the island, Feliciano pulled on an apron, starting to wash up the pans and put away the ingredients Arthur had used. It seemed only right to him to help out a little bit - surely after all he’d been through, Arthur wouldn’t be doing the dishes any time soon. Feliciano giggled to himself, starting to think about what he should make everyone else for breakfast. After all, scones were one thing, but he wasn’t particularly fond of the recipe. It would be up to him to find something everyone would like, and to make it well enough for all his guests to survive. Because, he thought shamelessly - the regret once again replaced with sick pleasure - he wouldn’t want to end up like Arthur.


	6. This Is Not a Test

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing much special here, but I'm kinda surprised I finished this chapter - anyway, expect more coming up in the future, this is a little bit less on the action level, but it should still be interesting (I hope! cue author finger crossing here). In the following chapters you'll get more action, but you've gotta start somwhere!

Matthieu opened his eyes and looked across the room to Kiku who was still sleeping soundly. He listened for a moment, looking up at the maroon cotton curtains that blocked the light from coming into the room, even though he could see from the minimal shadow they cast on the beds and floor that it was morning already. Their room had been done in a more Japanese fashion, instead of beds having futons on the ground. They weren’t uncomfortable, but Matthieu wasn’t quite used to being so near to the floor as he slept. It wasn’t exactly his place to complain during the room assignments, though, and he took his a grateful smile. Matthieu stood up, leaving his warm bed to investigate the noise he’d heard. It had been a wail of despair, but not just that. It had been a very British, very familiar voice, which made Matthieu know he’d have to make sure everything was all right. He bent over to where Kiku’s head was, and shook his side just enough to wake the Japanese man. Offended, Kiku put his hand to the place Matthieu had touched. He kept his eyes shut as he rolled over back into the futon. “What is it, Williams-san?”

“I heard something that sounded like Arthur screaming,” he replied, his voice soft and whispery as Kiku nodded and buried his face further into the pillow, “I’ll be back soon, I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

Matthieu couldn’t blame him - the morning was early still, and he himself wasn’t ready to go about anything - let alone comforting the man who had raised him in the case something was wrong. More often than not, he thought of Francis as his older brother because he’d found him initially as well as taken more care of him that Arthur ever did, but he had to admit that the Brit did some things for his development. Either way, in a house with the tensions like this, he wanted to make sure Arthur wasn’t under attack - or possibly attacking someone, given Matthieu’s knowledge of the man’s demeanor. He headed out into the main hallway where everyone had gathered the previous night, the bewildering announcement coming from somewhere. For a second, Matthieu tried to remember which room was Arthur’s, and upon finding his recollection headed over to it.

The thick white door was open a crack, light shining through it into the otherwise dark hallway. The flowery embroidered rug was cushiony, and Matthieu didn’t mind standing as he knocked softly on the door. It wouldn’t be polite to randomly enter, he knew, and so this was a necessary precaution. Not only that, but if Arthur was in some sort of fit, Matthieu didn’t want to be the person to anger him even more with an unwarranted entrance. “Arthur, are you all right?” he asked, searching for a sound.

The only thing he managed to make out was heavy breathing. With a start, he noticed the door to the next room - Francis’ - was open as well. This seemed strange, especially given that under the usual circumstance Francis would have been preening still, taking up to the last minute to make himself beautiful. Matthieu remembered this well from when he was young, waiting every morning for hours before Francis came out to make breakfast. That settled it - Matthieu knew that regardless of Arthur’s response, he had to go into the room. “Arthur, is everything-“ the Canadian’s voice cut off as he stared with wide eyes at the sight that met him.

On the floor was a little china teacup, shattered into pieces. The amber liquid it had previously contained had seeped out onto the carpet, creating an almost ink blot-esque shape, as if someone had let a brown pen bleed out into the Oriental design, forever marring it. On the end of the bed sat Arthur, his knees pulled up to his face, arms wrapped around them. Matthieu couldn’t quite see his facial expression, but from the way his shoulders stooped, his head no longer held high, he knew something was wrong. Beside him on the bed was Francis, the blood drained from his face in a ghastly fashion, eyes staring up at the ceiling. His chest had no rise and fall, his lips blank and breathless. The cloak and perfect positioning on his hair only made him look more artificial and waxy, as if he had been nothing more than a plastic recreation of the man Matthieu had known so well for so long. “Arthur?” he asked, taken aback, “Francis?”

Arthur shuddered, and Matthieu heard him take in a labored breath as he tried to breathe and stay calm. Arthur tried to convince himself he didn’t care about the man, that Francis had been nothing more than a bother and it was better that he was gone. He didn’t believe himself - that foolish Frenchman had been his world, and whether he cared to accept it or not, one of the things he lived for. Even if they bickered and it came to blows, or Francis had been insulting him in one way or another - Arthur would do anything to get it back again and pretend he hadn’t just killed him. Without looking up at Matthieu, Arthur snipped at him. “He won’t respond, you git. I… I think I…” he stopped, unable to continue as he took another deep breath in, “It doesn’t matter, just… just go away… I don’t want you here.”

The Canadian took a breath. It was still too early in the morning, and he felt nauseous from the champagne the previous night. All he wanted to do was return to his little Japanese room and fall back asleep, but something told him that he could just go like that - not with Arthur like this. “He was my family too,” Matthieu murmured, looking down at the ground through his glasses, “I loved him like a brother. Will you at least tell me what happened?”

With a small boost of rational thought, Matthieu realized that maybe if he could prompt any information on how he’d passed like this he’d be able to figure out more about the murderer. Not only that, but with someone else dead, everyone else became that much less trustworthy. When tensions grew like this - from everything the young Canadian had read and seen - people turned against each other, no longer uniting as a force against the single killer. The only problem here was that no one could be certain of anyone else’s innocence - only their own - and the way a member of the mafia turns against their peers, the murderer would be able to turn easily against the innocent. Perhaps the best thing Matthieu could do would be to give Arthur the benefit of the doubt. Arthur flicked his head up, meeting Matthieu’s soft amethyst eyes with his own harsh green ones. His cheeks were red, and there was a mournful look to his face. “Go away, I said,” he repeated, more slowly this time, “I don’t want you here. I… I want to be alone…”

Matthieu frowned, holding the brass doorknob in his hand as he pulled it closed, blocking Arthur off from the outside world. He headed back through the dark hallway to his room, where Kiku was now sitting crosslegged with a thick book propped up on his lap. “Did you find out what happened?” he looked up from the text, his brown eyes blank as usual.

“I… I’m not sure,” Matthieu scratched his head, thinking for a moment as he scanned the room - Kiku had woken up in a surprisingly fast amount of time, and the Canadian was impressed, “I mean, I know for sure that we lost one more. Francis is dead, and Arthur… I couldn’t tell, but it seemed like he was crying. At the very least he was incredibly upset, he told me to get out,” he bit his lip, “Although trust wears thin in these situations, I’d say we should bring everyone together, like a meeting. To evaluate.”

Kiku shook his head, “Williams-san, what if one of them is responsible. I don’t like to think about it, and I’m sure you don’t - I don’t want to accuse anyone too suddenly, that isn’t right either. Just take everything with a grain of salt, and don’t jump to conclusions. If you want to bring everyone together, you should discuss only previous events, and make no plans for the future.”

Matthieu nodded as he walked over to the closet, pulling out the comfortable old maple leaf sweatshirt he’d brought along. It gave him consolation and reminded him of his home - well, that and the bottle of maple syrup he’d brought along for the mornings he made pancakes. In the past week he’d made the offer several times, but the only one who had noticed was Kiku, and he only let Matthieu make pancakes one of the times because he didn’t want them every single morning. Matthieu could justify this, and listened as his stomach rumbled. Kiku was right, but they still should talk everything over. Although Matthieu had been confident the champagne had been drugged or something, he elected not to bring this up, Kiku already looking relatively annoyed this the interruption. “All right. We probably should discuss soon - will you help me get everyone together?”

Kiku shut the book, his hands running over the golden lettering on the rich red cover before setting it down on the floor beside the futon. He bowed his head respectfully and smoothed down his clothing. He’d still have to get dressed, but thankfully his pajamas weren’t too far from legitimate clothing. “All right,” he agreed, making his way over the closet to find something to put on as well, “I will help you. I believe that if we want to make it out of this place, with as many people as we can, we will have to evaluate everything that has happened. I’ll talk to Nguyen and Lin first, since I know them relatively well. It will make more sense if you try and talk to those you know better - Ivan, Arthur, Tino, Raivis - and after I finish I can speak with Lovino and Ludwig, we used to be good acquaintances back in the day.”

Matthieu gave a little smile, feeling better about the situation. The idea of no longer having Francis by his side hurt, but while he wasn’t in the presence of the body the loss didn’t seem real, only something a sick mind could have come up with. He thought about Tino the night before, lashing out at everyone before sinking down to the floor in a heap of exhaust, tired from the mental and emotional torture of losing Berwald. Even though Kiku and Matthieu weren’t in a relationship and didn’t have admitted feelings for one another, having to sleep in an empty room without the other man was an unsettling thought to Matthieu. He liked falling asleep to the sound of the other man breathing, it reminded him that even though people forgot about him often, Kiku would remember. Even now, the thought of people disregarding him when their lives could be at stake was a disheartening thought, but Matthieu held his head high as he left the room.

In the hallway was silence that could only be described as dead. All of the doors were a crisp white, the novelty of their painting quite obvious from the lack of chips and blotches in the over all covering. Matthieu had overlooked who each room belonged to in the initial tour, but Arthur’s was the first he knew of. Again, he pushed the door aside and entered the morning room, Arthur not an inch from his fetal position on the corner of the bed. He looked near ready to slip off onto the floor, but Matthieu said nothing about that. “Arthur… I know you want me to leave, and I am so sorry for being here, but Kiku and I are getting everyone together for a meeting,” he spoke with an even tone, trying to keep both his panic and the Brit under control, “Please come. You’re a really important part of the story, and we need you.”

“No you don’t, you git,” Arthur shot back, moving one of the hands off his legs to run his fingers over Francis’ knuckles, “I want to be here, with Francis. He’s gone now, that’s all you need to know. I don’t want to come to your bloody meeting. You discuss what you will and come back to me, and then we can talk. I don’t want to leave this frog. Maybe before I would have, but now if there’s one thing I know it’s that I shouldn’t leave. It’s not like I care about him or what happened… I just want to be in my room, alone.”

Matthieu approached him, resting his hand on the hard mahogany of the bedside table. He eased himself down to a sitting position beside both Francis and Arthur. Being so close to the dead body hurt Matthieu more than he could have explained, a pang in his heart of distant longing that Francis would close his eyes, then open them and be back with everyone. He wished Arthur didn’t take it so hard and did’t blame himself, since it was especially hard to have him even more emotionally distant than usual. “Arthur… I’m sorry, but please…” Matthieu tried to coax him, “You aren’t the only one who has lost family - I have too - Francis meant a great deal to me, and Alfred is my brother. I know you’re hurting too, but it will be okay. It’s not like you killed hi-“

“What the hell do you know, you fucking wanker?” Arthur glared up, fire in his eyes. It wasn’t a sight Matthieu usually saw, just as it was incredibly rare for someone to lash out at the soft spoken Canadian. He felt his heart sink a little bit, wishing he hadn’t been yelled at, an apology already on the tip of his lips. “And I’m not upset or hurting! I’m simply distressed because people are dying and I don’t want it to be me next!”

Matthieu pressed his hand against the mattress, starting to stand up. Francis’ head flopped a little bit to the side, his perfect blond hair covering one of his exposed frozen eyes. It was all Matthieu could do to keep himself from crying, trying to ignore the hard pit he felt building up inside him. It had just been last night that he was by his side, laughing and cheering along with everyone else. It felt out of place what a few mere hours could do to someone, bringing the Frenchman from a state of love and happiness to this reduced waxy form that hardly felt like the same man. He tried to set aside the painful stare directed at him, instead focusing on the simple lace curtains that hung in the window. They projected a little pattern onto Arthur’s back and the floor which felt awfully hard to see. Matthieu slipped his thin hands into the large pockets of the sweatshirt, eager to head on to the next room. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come to talk when you’re feeling like this. Although I’d ask again if you’d please come, I’m not sure it’s worth it. Just… stay here, I guess… and if you want to come it might help.”

He had almost reached the doorway when Arthur called out to him. “Matt, come back for a moment.”

Matthieu pivoted in the doorway, his lengthy blond hair swinging around his head. He couldn’t see too clearly, having forgotten to put on his glasses as he left the room. How this was a thing that hit him only then was a different question. “Yes, Arthur? What is it?” he asked, still a little bit nervous about being yelled at again.

“I’m going,” Arthur replied, letting his hands down from around his knees to straighten the army green jacket he wore, still for old time’s sake. The nostalgia feeling it brought him hit hard, especially seeing Francis wear his own old clothing from way back when. “I… I do want to be alone, but if there’s any chance for my going to be helpful, I’ll do it….” he paused, “Know this: I’m not going because you told me to or because Francis would have wanted it. I’m going because I want to.”

The Canadian turned again to leave the room with a soft murmur of acknowledgement. If Arthur had agreed to come, it meant that surely he wasn’t all angry, and that there was something salvageable about what had happened. Arthur watched him disappear completely, still holding Francis’ limp palm in his. The idea that he’d killed the man with one of his scones was like a punch in the gut. He didn’t like the realization that even if there was a murderer running loose, and even if he hadn’t played a role in the first three deaths, unwittingly he had in this one. In the blink of an eye, Arthur knew he’d never be able to see himself the same way again or condone any actions he took of the malicious nature. He sighed, hanging his head as he brought the hand up to his face, laying his warm lips upon the cold, waxy skin. He only yearned to have done this earlier, without the other man dead.

Arthur placed Francis’ arm back down onto the bed and stood up. Even though tears pressed against the back of his eyes, he forced himself to keep his face dry. Showing up at a meeting with any sign of sadness wasn’t acceptable in his book, and whatever he measures he needed to keep himself controlled, he’d carry out. Already he could hear the sound of other guests, leaving their rooms as they headed down the stairs. The house, slowly but surely, was waking up.

Feliciano sat at the dining room table, waiting as everyone slowly shuffled in. About half of the guests had been awake before they were summoned to the meeting place, and so while some people were still groggy in their pajamas, other people spick and span the way Arthur was and Francis had been. Gilbert took his place beside his husband, giving the Italian’s warm hand a gentle squeeze. He yawned, still not completely recovered from the night before. “Feli, what’s all this about?” he asked, “Can’t we go back to bed and discuss this later - I mean, honestly, what are we even here for? You need sleep to be awesome, you know.”

From around the table there were murmurs of agreement. Feliciano blinked in the bright light and shrugged. It had been his idea to have the large windows, the glass six inches thick as it ran from floor to ceiling. It gave a nice view of the garden and patio, which Feliciano liked. Even if he couldn’t leave the house and go outside, it was a comfort to be so close to nature. He’d planted flowers along the outside of the house, in all the colors he liked the most - there were red roses, dew drops on them from the night before, and sunflowers stood further away. Feliciano hadn’t decided if this counted as leaving the house, but he did know that the likelihood that anyone would try it was very low. Around the outside of the patio was a large wooden fence, the kind that was only a few stacked beams of wood on top of each other. Alfred had set up many of them on his ranch, and they weren’t too expensive to make while still giving the place a comfortable rustic finish. Feliciano hadn’t been too fond of the appearance, instead wanting to make a tall stone wall around the entire house, but Gilbert had insisted otherwise. He said that the set up would look too forbidding - and Feliciano had to agree, although with a stone fence he was certain that no one would get out. This, of course, he couldn’t tell Gilbert - he would have ruined the charade.

“Please, listen,” Matthieu spoke up, hoping that even for once people would recognize him, and say he existed. The heads turned down the table, all looking towards the soft spoken Canadian, beside him Kiku. It only made sense that he start off the meeting, since it was his idea to hold in the first place - Kiku had made sure to tell everyone he spoke to that much. “We have a problem - Francis Bonnefoy is dead now too. We have to look at what happened carefully before anyone does anything. I hesitated to call this meeting because we all should be wary of one another, but that will only end in betrayal. I’m extending my hand to trust you. We need to find a way through this.”

Although the thought brewed in Kiku’s head that perhaps he’d let Matthieu do the wrong thing, coming up here to announce this to everyone, he tried to ignore it and support the man instead. He couldn’t entirely disagree with the logic that sooner or later everyone would turn on each other, simply due to the lack of certainty of anything in the environment. Nguyen waved her hand for a moment, just long enough for everyone’s eyes to fall on her. “How did he die?” she asked, looking anxiously around the table.

Lin held her hand, helping Nguyen sit back down on her seat since she’d had to bend over the table just to get everyone’s attention. The room was dead silent for a minute. On the opposite end of the table, Matthias patted Tino’s back, noticing the bags the man wore from his inability to sleep the previous night. For Tino, the bed had been painfully empty, and he spent the hours staring at Berwald’s pillow and trying to picture the Swede sleeping peacefully in it. All he had left of his husband’s image was a photo he’d managed to salvage of those developed that showed him lying unconscious on the floor, almost as if he was sleeping. Everything else was back at home, and the one picture hurt Tino’s heart more than he could say. The smile he’s seen so rarely was there, but the willingness to have it wasn’t.

Peter meanwhile gnawed on an apple he’d found sitting out on the counter, seated between Tino and Raivis. It was the safest place for him in the moment, to be with the two remaining people who cared most about him. A loud crunch broke the silence, and out of the corner of his eye, Tino noticed someone standing up. “It’s my fault,” Arthur braced his frail body on the table with both arms, “It’s my fault he’s gone. He ate one of my scones… and he died. He was choking, too, and I took it as a bloody joke. Before I knew it the frog was dead. I swear I didn’t put anything in the scones, it was a regular recipe… I don’t know what happened.”

“You mean your scone actually did him in?” Matthias crowed, a jeering smile on his face. Lukas reached around to the back of his neck and pressed down hard, Matthias cringing over in pain until he apologized, “Okay, okay, I’m sorry but I’d die too if I had to-“ Lukas ground his finger in harder, his face expressionless, “S-stop it Norge! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Lukas pulled his hand away, moving over to whisper lightly in his ear. “You better be.”

Matthias rubbed the back of his neck under Lukas’ disapproving gaze. Arthur’s face had sunken down into a frown, his cheeks flushed a bright red both out of embarrassment and out of shame for doing something so horrible - he hadn’t meant to kill Francis, he’d just died - and again, Arthur knew this was the wrong way to see the world. The pressure of everyone staring at him - finally knowing his scones had actually caused death - bore straight through his ego. He needed to leave. “I’m going to get some tea,” he pushed himself away from the table, standing up abruptly to head for the kitchen, “Does anyone else want some? No? Just me?” he sighed in subdue, “All right, I’ll be back once I make it.”

“What about Fred- I mean Alfred?” Ivan asked, smiling as he looked at all the sullen faces around the table, “Surely we must do something about him.”

Lin shrugged, tracing the lines in the table with her fingers. “If I may: I don’t mean this as offense, but we aren’t supposed to look for him. I know you want him back - I’d want Nguyen back if someone took her - but you have to understand that everyone’s at stake here. If it was just Alfred, then maybe a team rescue plan would make sense. But it isn’t. It’s all of us, and we’re all here together. All our lives are at risk. I’m worried about Alfred too. If you need to have a rescue, however, I can’t stand by you. I’m sorry, Ivan, but let’s work together and think of everyone in the situation. We want him to come out with us, too, but you know what happened to Francis. That could have been you. Or me. And it already was your sisters. Don’t let more happen.”

“Let me ask you this,” the Russian asked, his accent thick, “What more do I have to lose? My sisters are gone, my Fredka is hostage and here you tell me that is good as gone. So I ask you once: what more is there for me to lose? Tino, you have lost too, you can come, da?”

The Finn shook his head, wrapping a protective arm around Peter. The little blond looked up in surprise, leaning into the touch ever so slightly. It felt nice to be beside someone and protected like that in light of what had happened, and Peter took another bite of his apple as he wallowed in indebtedness. He was still hungry, after all. Tino pursed his lips at the Russian. “In case you forget, I still have my son, Peter - even if Berwald isn’t here anymore, and even if my heart aches, it’s still my duty to care for him as his parent. Besides, Nor and Den are still here, I have to stay for them. You’re wrong if you think I have nothing to lose. After them comes my life and happiness, and you can have that when you pry it from my cold, dead fingers.”

Peter looked up in shock, and Lukas moved Tino’s arm from around his shoulders. Tino gritted his teeth, ready to fight even though there wasn’t anything to be so belligerent about. He was still wasted from the previous night, his heart, head, and stomach all throbbing in a way he didn’t think was possible. “Why don’t you make yourself a cup of coffee?” he asked the Finn, ushering him off the chair and in the direction of the kitchen. Lukas waited for him to cross the threshold into the next room before explaining in his monotone voice. “He gets like that when he doesn’t have his coffee. I’m sorry you all had to hear that. He isn’t serious.”

“Okay, back on track,” Matthieu tried to gather attention through the silence again. People rarely paid attention to him, so it was strange to have all the eyes of about fifteen people, all waiting and hanging onto each word he spoke. It had been a good idea to arrange the meeting, and no matter what happened it would be important they strategize. “What are we going to do about it? We can’t keep letting people die, not the way Francis did, and definitely not the way Berwald, Yekatrina, and Natalya did.”

At the mention of his late sisters, Ivan’s face fell, but his expression quickly reverted back to the one he usually wore of youthful innocence, despite being one of the older people in the room. Lin waved her hand in the same way Nguyen had done earlier, and quickly she was able to get most of the table ready to listen to what she had to say. Lin cleared her throat, sitting back in her chair so her back aligned comfortably with the wooden backboard. Some of the other chairs had cushioned backs, and for some inexplicable reason sitting hurt Lin and she wished she’d made a better decision about which chair she’d picked out. She shifted uncomfortably, and Nguyen rubbed her back with a subtle, gentle hand, out of view of everyone else at the table. “What if we stick together?” she asked, “I know it sounds foolish, but… Berwald was alone, Natalya was alone, and Yekatrina… I’m pretty sure she was alone too, since I saw Natalya leave when Yeka was still here. Francis… he was with Arthur, but if he was poisoned, then it doesn’t mean the murderer had to be on sight for his death. That means if we just stay together at all times, we’ll be fine.”

“That’s assuming none of us are the murderer, dummkopf,” Gilbert interrupted, “Like… say Raivis was the murderer - I know you’re not,” he said, looking sheepishly at the boy’s alarmed face, “But if he were, and someone went with him, they’d be at risk.”

Matthieu thought for a minute before responding, “That’s true… can we have our phones with us? Then if something happens, we can text a group chat-“

“Signal’s down,” Louis interrupted, “Feliciano, can I speak with you after this meeting? I’d like to discuss a new payment plan to follow through with surrounding getting some wifi here - I can’t communicate with Ned and he starts to worry if I’m out of communication for too long. I mean, he won’t do anything, he’ll just worry. Anyway, discussion time after this?”

“Of course!” Feliciano replied, drumming his fingers on the edge of the table quietly. He wasn’t very engaged in what he was doing, just barely listening to anything going on. He waited to hear the things that affected him, like everyone sticking together. He could be with Gilbert most of the time, and he hadn’t intended to take out anyone during large gathering anyway. It would have been too suspicious, he already knew, and something told him that although he’d done the best job hiding everything there was no chance of having it completely secret - it was more of a feeling Feliciano had, one of intense uncertainty, that let him know that whatever he did, he wasn’t exactly alone. The less meeting that could happen, the better - that was one of the few things the Italian found himself confident in. “Ve- Gilbert, can we make breakfast now? I’m hungry, and it’s already passed first eating time!”

Gilbert laughed, and eagerly Lukas thought about the leftovers from the other night, silently licking his lips. “Sure, Feli, let’s make breakfast now. Closing thoughts: we stick together and worry about Al when we’ve got a plan to escape with all of us. Yes? Good?” he looked around for agreement, and in the form of people nodding, Gilbert stood up with a grin, “All right, breakfast it is!”

Everyone shuffled into the kitchen to find Tino and Arthur already sitting at the counter, chatting mournfully over a cup of tea and a cup of coffee. It made sense that they’d be able to relate now, both of them having lost someone who mattered deeply. Arthur still hadn’t admitted anything - not the feeling that certainly wasn’t love nor the complete and utter despair he’d had at knowing Francis would never learn about said feeling. Tino, meanwhile, had just wanted more time with the Swede he had taken so long to discover his feelings for. It hurt his heart to think about all the lost time, when Berwald had tried to comfort him or called him his wife before Tino was ready to accept and fulfill the role. He smiled at the group of people walking in. “I made extra coffee if you want some! It’s very tasty this morning!”

Lukas had scuttled over to the counter only to find the remaining half of Gilbird, much to his evident satisfaction. When he was certain Matthias wasn’t looking, he picked it up with a swift and and pocked it before going over to the fridge to get some butter out. He’d only had it raw last night, and then lightly toasted, but it hadn’t been bad either way. He kept the large carton there, and had added ‘Norway’s Butter’ as a label so no one would touch it. Sneaking out a spoonful, he popped it onto the remainder of Gilbird and started to eat, his back turned. He wasn’t sure what anyone would say if they saw him consuming half of a buttered up Gilbird with just a hangover, but the time for caring about that had gone away. He savored the salty flavor, knowing that the likelihood that he’d regret doing this would hit him later as he pulled feathers from his mouth, but as long as the alcoholic affects stuck with him it wouldn’t be a problem.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Louis waited patiently for Feliciano to take a cup of tea before taking him to go discuss the wifi. Truth to be told, his brother Ned didn’t really care if he was out, but it bothered Louis to not have the same kind of communications he did with Basch. He pulled out his phone as he waited, again dismayed by the no-wifi bar. It had been strange how it had really only gone out after the whole kidnapping with Alfred, even though Louis had been sure he’d set everything up flawlessly. Clearly, though, that hadn’t been the case - no one could send messages to anywhere else, even within the manor. This made work more difficult, even though most guests had signed up for as much leave as they could with their bosses. Feliciano finished letting his teabag steep and set it down in the sink, carrying the warm cup with him. “Ve, I’m ready to go, Louis! Let’s go discuss!”

“All right,” Louis agreed, thinking for a moment where the most advantageous place to discuss would be, “Why don’t we go to my room? If you want a joint, I’ve got several and I’d be willing to give you one if you wanted.”

“Ve- I’ll think about it,” Feliciano chirped and followed Louis up the stairs, admiring the young man for a moment.

Depending on how this all went, it might work out in Feliciano’s favor. He still felt the eager grip of power on him, the one he’d felt as he poured cyanide into the scone batter. Everything had been so satisfying, down to the shriek that echoed through the halls to his waiting ears. Another part of Feliciano - maybe his heart - weighed him down like a sack of lead, and he wanted nothing more than to stop all the hurting and the maiming, but at the same time he knew he couldn’t. The power was too great. He flickered in and out like this as they made their way into Louis’ room, Feliciano torn between no more harm and doing the most damage he could, just for the rush of insanity and adrenaline he got from it. He watched Louis sit down on the bed and pull out a lighter. Before Feliciano could agree or disagree on having the joint or get to any type of negotiations, he knew that this time, he’d made up his mind.


	7. Telephone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness in the update, school's finishing up for the year and there was a big project... anyway, I'm back now, so these next chapters should be more frequent, like they were in the beginning. If anything does come up, there will be at least two a week, so it won't go away! Have fun with this next chapter, and thank you to both my Discord family and anyone who's managed to read up to this far!

Louis edged himself to the cusp of the pool. He’d been sitting on his bed before as he discussed getting the wi-fi installed with Feliciano, and having gone through two full joints already, he knew he was getting closer and closer to actually being high. He slipped his little metal lighter out of his pocket for a third time, lighting the end of his joint as he rolled up his pant legs. Neither man spoke a word, Louis just wanting to get into the pool a little bit. The Luxembourger's swimming skills were at best a doggy paddle, at that didn’t exactly apply when he was high off joints - thus, even having the pool was dangerous, but Louis didn’t care. He found the positive side triumph over this menial flaw, however, and had splurged to set up the room pool. Not only was it relaxing, but it also seemed to be a little pop of wealth that no one else had - which Louis rather liked, it gave him special flare. He inhaled the first puff of smoke softly, feeling the water around his feet.

Feliciano sat down beside him, making sure to keep his own legs tucked safely under him. It would be too easy, all too easy. Already, the Italian could feel power and his thirst for it welling up inside him like an insatiable beast, nothing he could suppress. Louis sighed, closing his light green eyes for a moment to take in all the feelings around him. It was this part of the chemical that he enjoyed the most, all the sensations which came over him. It was satisfying, to say the very least. “So,” he spoke, opening his eyes halfway, “You should be able to set in the updated plan within the next couple days, I can handle the connections to the company. I’ll send the memo over, it should reach relatively soon and we’ll have wifi back and running at some point shortly. How does that sound?”

Louis felt like patting himself on the back - this discussion had gone relatively quickly, and it was better to have gotten it over with while still not admitting that he really just wanted to text his boyfriend more. Playing it smooth almost always worked for Louis, and this time the method hadn’t failed. Feliciano nodded. “Yes, that should work fine. Do you mind if I put my feet in?”

“Not at all,” Louis replied grandly, throwing out an arm in the direction of the pool, “Go right ahead!” 

The water wasn’t that deep - a meter at most, moving at a slow and gentle pace - and Feliciano felt safe enough to go in a little bit. First he did have to roll up his pant legs, which he did carefully to just above his knees. He let his feet sink into the water, the cool water rushing over him. He could tell why Louis was so fond of it now, especially since it did have the serene atmosphere which could bring anyone into a lulled sleep. Feliciano sighed, still not completely cleansed of his need for more strength. He knew it wasn’t the right thing to do, especially not after the way he’d set up Arthur, the poor man probably on edge more than he’d realized. Feliciano thought for a moment, if someone had made him think he’d killed Gilbert; within moments, his heart shattered, even the mere idea of losing such an important person was devastating. For a couple seconds he wallowed in the water, closing his eyes before putting a hand behind Louis, his third joint half-way burnt out, and shoved him into the water.

Louis gasped, taken by surprise at the sudden touch as his face met the water. Rather than just coming back up for air as Louis attempted to do, he could feel something pressing hard on his back that prevented him from moving upwards. In a desperate motion, he tried to push himself from the bottom of the pool. The slick, slimy surface of the bottom ran under his fingers, his hair drifting in the lazy current as he struggled. In a way everything seemed to occur in slow motion, the feeling of two things pushing down on his back and preventing him from leaving the water as it rushed over his skin. His clothes floated off his skin, no longer holding tight to him as the water tried to force its way into his mouth and lungs with each labored breath. Within seconds, Louis could tell it would be over, even through his high state. He gagged, the sound muffled by the once-soothing rush of water that now sounded like a painful rumble of an avalanche, everything plummeting in on top of Louis. He opened his eyes, the chlorine startling his eyes. Had Louis been above water, his face not submerged, the tears that welled up at the corners of his eyes would have had a chance to slip down his cheeks. It stung, but for a moment Louis forgot about it, his head filled into his own little world away from everything else.

Feliciano pressed down on Louis’ back, feeling the man struggle against him. He moved one foot up higher to keep his head down, since that was the most important part anyway - as long as he could keep the Luxembourger inhaling everything but air. Feeling the forced rise on his right foot was the most difficult, knowing that it was another failed attempt at breathing. Despite this and a little bit of internal regret, Feliciano’s care had gone down the drain, no longer worried or apprehensive about what he was doing. Sure, it was morally wrong and Feliciano knew that as the day wore on he’d feel progressively worse and worse, his heart aching for the two men he’d lost this morning and the three people the previous night. As much as he knew he should feel badly, his feet pressing up against Louis’ warm back, bubbles fluttering to the surface. There were smooth ripples that fluttered out, but Feliciano just smiled as he made sure Louis couldn’t move, the squirming more and more frantic.

Panic rose in Louis’ chest. Although he’d accepted his fate, knowing how much longer he had, the effects of the joints had started washing over his mind. He tried to think in vain back to everything he knew, back to Basch. He wished for a moment that he’d had more time, more chances to tell Basch he loved him, more times to laugh and more times to cry. It was too much to lose, so suddenly especially, and Louis regretted his time that had been wasted. HIs chest burned for the sweet feeling of air, or even the chance to spit up the water that filled his lungs already, but there was no such luck. 

As if it would help, Louis tried inhaling through his nose, a deft streak of creativity making his drug-riddled mind believe that maybe that would help, and he’d become the tiniest bit salvageable, but most unfortunately that wasn’t the case in any world. His eyes closed for the final time, everything starting to feel numb - his hands no longer feeling like his, just simply existing with the flow of the current, waiting for it to be over. He missed his brother, Basch, his sister - and all the while, he prayed that they’d be okay. Louis wasn’t particularly religious, not in that sense - but it brought his brain a marginal amount of comfort as it shut down. He was surrounded by cold and wet and tears that would never make it from his face and a realization that no one would ever know. It was Feliciano. It had to have been. 

Feliciano felt the struggle ease up as Louis’ body grew heavy and limp, and without a second thought he lifted his feet cautiously off of the back of his head. Louis’ light brown hair was soaked, bobbing pitifully in the water as it floated to the surface along with the rest of his lanky body. The Italian was cautious as he stood up, contemplating his next move as he rolled down his pant leg. The papers he’d gotten Louis to sign surrounding the new wifi provider he set down on the bed messily before sitting down and wrinkling up the smooth covers Louis took so much care to fix up in the mornings. He didn’t want it to look like Louis had been sitting near the water with him, for sure that would give everything away. Upon making sure it looked like he’d left in the middle, Feliciano got up and headed silently to the communal bathroom.

Standing in the bathroom, he ran the warm water over his hands, letting his shoulders relax out of their state of previous tension. Feliciano did need a second to relax, which he barely took for himself with all the planning and preparing and trying to take care of a household of people. It wasn’t easy for him to just accept everything all the time, even if he was the cause of everyone’s pain. For now, he just had to make sure it was done in the most nondescript, silent way possible. If Gilbert found out - Feliciano cringed considering the possibilities - he might hate him and leave. Even though the Italian had blood on his hands, as long as he could keep it from everyone the most success he’d have; Romano was one of the more important people to keep everything from. Feliciano swallowed hard, splashing some water on his face. He still had the dire need for control and power, but it was fading bit by bit, which gave him some relief. As the days passed, he felt the burn and need for control growing stronger, knowing what he’d have to do. That was when the urge drew him in to Berwald, taking over so easily his typically cheery and clear frame of mind. 

From that point forward, everything just fluctuated from his normal self to becoming the sudden killer, strong and incalculable. It was because of this that understanding him was difficult, as well as the reason no one had fully caught on just yet. Feliciano had returned the previous night, and although he knew the kill had been his fault, it was still a painful shock to see the bodies piling up - Yekatrina’s especially, since hers was only the cause indirectly. Feliciano wiped his face on the hand towel beside the sink, trying to make it as dry as possible. He folded the damp blue cloth over on itself and hung it back over the metal bar that served as the rack.

The Italian left the room, headed back to Louis’ room. He saw the body, bobbing up and down on the top layer of water, the arms and legs out to the sides as he floated blissfully - dead. Feliciano felt his heart rise, but not in the same way he had when he saw the first three bodies. Every so often, one of Louis’ arms moved as if he were still in control, but Feliciano knew in his heart that couldn’t be the case, the man in front of him was utterly, pathetically dead. Although this time the fear wasn’t as fresh, since everything had been exactly the way Feliciano had left it, papers on the bed and all. There weren’t any windows in the room, and it was pretty dimly lit aside from the light fixture that Louis had installed off of Basch’s recommendation. 

Feliciano paused for a moment before thrashing his hand hard at the door, allowing it to slam open, the doorknob smashing into the wall. The pictures hanging out in the hallway shifted, swinging on the nails Feliciano had hung them up with such great care long ago, Gilbert by his side as they placed the final frame where it would belong eternally. There weren’t that many pieces of art from Gilbert’s place, but he hadn’t minded - Feliciano had such great skill, and it was worth it before they’d moved in to watch his lovely husband-to-be paint each piece by hand, day after day. They stayed together with Ludwig, waiting for construction on the manor to finish up. Even then, they’d stuck together as they moved in, Feliciano running around the great empty rooms in enthralled excitement. Many of the pictures had been painted based on things Gilbert had said he’d liked when he first saw Italy: the rolling countrysides abloom in the spring, the old roman architecture, even the waterways of Venice. All too well Feliciano knew these places, and all too easily they formed under the gentle motions of his paintbrush.

“GIL!” He yelled down the stairs, having come out to the mouth of the generally wide staircase, and after waiting a second for the tired Prussia’s voice to come up, Feliciano rushed down, “Gilbert… I went to the bathroom and when I came back he was gone but it was just for a few minutes and there are no windows so I don’t know what could have happened but I do know I was only there and then the papers were where I left them and they weren’t touched but he was in the pool and I don’t know and-“

Gilbert put a gentle finger to Feliciano’s lips, quieting down the Italian long enough for a silence to hang in the room as he shushed him, feeling the tense body in his arms. He tried to cradle Feliciano, the man’s labored breathing drawing slower and slower. He glanced around the room, a slew of different expressions. Tino glanced around, his eyes meeting countless others who looked away. He settled on Arthur. “Before I go, do you mind watching Peter again? I don’t want him to… to see anything, and I don’t know if you’re staying here.”

“I was going to go,” Arthur replied, his nerves still shot from everything that morning, “But now that you mention it, staying down here doesn’t seem that bad. Sure, I’ll stay with Peter.”

The young Sealandic looked up at Tino with his big blue eyes, tugging softly on the elbow of Tino’s jacket. The Finn looked down. “Mama… I want to go, I don’t want to stay here. I know you’re worried about me but I’ll be fine, I just want to see the body or whatever happened. It’ll be cool! C’mon please? I know you didn’t want me to look at Papa,” he tried his hardest not to meet Tino’s sorrowful gaze at the mention of Berwald, “But this isn’t him - it’s Mr. Becker, it’ll be fine!”

Tino firmly shook his head, pulling the boy off of him as he headed towards the crowd that had already assembled. Feliciano was sobbing in Gilbert’s arms, and it was all the Prussian could do to not scoop him up and carry him bridal style in front of the company. “Peter, even I don’t want to go, but I have to make sure everything is okay and assess the situation to care for the rest of my family. But I still don’t want you going, since blood and gore is a bit spooky for a young child. You stay here, okay, and let Arthur watch you and I’ll be back soon.”

Peter stalked off in the opposite direction, crossing his arms in adamant frustration. “Fine! But I won’t enjoy it! And I’m staying only because I want to, and not because you’re telling me to.”

Tino sighed as he watched the Sealandic walk away, then turned back to the crowd of people heading upstairs. Even if something was obviously wrong (which it was), he didn’t want to have the boy wrapped up in it. If they ever made it out alive, sending his son to therapy both for this and the loss of his father would be hard on the both of them, especially given the stubborn nature Peter drew himself so tightly to. Gilbert lagged behind with Feliciano, trying to make sure everything was okay. Feliciano, for his part, had been upset and cried many times before, always over smaller, more useless things. Now, it was easy to slip back into his old habit with Gilbert as the man tried to comfort him and make everything alright. If he could be brought even the tiniest sense of solace it would feel worth it to Gilbert, and he let the Italian lean into his chest as they walked. 

Matthias and Ivan were nearest to the front; having both lost siblings recently, they felt an internal urgency to see about the new person. Louis, although consistently the life of the party and fun to be around, wasn’t particularly close with anyone at the house. His boyfriend had insisted on staying home, which no one really had minded because Basch was a recluse. Louis’s brother and sister hadn’t been invited, and the real reason he had been was because he paid for the entire manor and it seemed wrong not to have him. Feliciano didn’t mind, more people to celebrate the better. He liked the large crowd and making impressively sized meals each night for everyone. At the top of the stairs was Louis’ room, and Ivan headed in first. The group gathered around the pool’s edge, and Ludwig reached in to fish out the body, his clothing getting soaked in the process. He couldn’t worry about a little water when another person had died. He set Louis’ seemingly frail body down on the floor beside the bed.

Louis seemed to take a shuddering breath before making a burbling, gagging noise, his chest ceasing to move anymore. It had been a release of some of the water after the fact, Feliciano determined, since his lungs were already thick and murky with the contents of the pool. A little bit of water dribbled out his lips, and Ludwig bent down to wipe his bangs aside to reveal his closed, dead eyes. Gilbert set Feliciano on the edge of the bed and picked up the light blue throw that rested on the far end. With the crowd of spectators all watching, he placed it carefully over the body, leaving Louis as no more than a light blue shape under a blanket. “May he rest in peace,” Gilbert murmured, standing with his hands clasped in front of him for a few seconds before heading back to Feliciano.

He wrapped a firm arm around the quaking shoulders as they headed out of the room, followed by everyone else, the papers forgotten about. Feliciano had made his sobs grow quieter, to give Gilbert the illusion he had helped. He’d have to go soon and make sure Alfred hadn’t come up with some way to escape. Matthieu ran up beside them, trying to get attention. “Feli.. Gil… Can you tell me what happened? If we know we can watch out for it in the future.”

“I really don’t think you should both-“ Gilbert started, but Feliciano looked up, his auburn hair a mess as he glanced over at Matthieu.

“No, no, it’s okay,” he said, “I just went to the bathroom and Louis said it was okay and we had just finished talking about the plans for a wifi upgrade and everything and then when I came back he was in the pool and he’d been smoking too but I didn’t smoke and I don’t know what happened!”

Gilbert patted his head affectionately, frowning at Matthieu. It seemed to be that now, even though the Canadian was finally being recognized by someone for once - a strange occurrence and a not too common one either - he was only recognized for the bad things. “Really, maybe I should take Feli back to his room, he’s had a long day.”

“It’s 11 in the morning,” Matthieu tried to say, but once again he was forgotten about and ignored completely. It hadn’t been a long day, but either way Feliciano seemed pretty tuckered out so he didn’t mind. If anything could make him feel the tiniest bit better, it would have been worth it. Matthieu turned and headed back to the dining room, where breakfast was still in full swing as everyone returned to eating. The only people who had already finished were Arthur and Peter, who now sat together playing a game - which Arthur was reluctant to do since he believed Peter to very much be a brat, but given the situation it seemed like the right thing. Arthur sighed as Peter made up rules that didn’t exist just so he could get the edge in the game, always trying to prove that he was very much superior to all his adult counterparts.

Lovino rested his chin on his hand at the table, taking another sip of the dark black coffee he enjoyed. Something about this felt very, very off to him. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, though, as Gilbert helped Feliciano back to their room, almost carrying him up the stairs. The murders that were happening certainly fit into the category as wrong - Lovino knew this much, and being almost every bit as much of a worrier as his brother, Lovino felt something else here too. Part of Feliciano’s behavior didn’t feel right. Sure, he was the pitiful cry baby he always was, rushing to both of the German brothers for help whenever he could, but it didn’t feel as natural to Lovino as it usually did. Indefinitely he wanted to return back to his home, but at the rate at which they lost people, Lovino was relatively certain either he’d die soon or everyone else would, meaning he’d be alone and no longer have to put up with the constant bustling chatter in the house. After thinking about it, however, Lovino decided he didn’t really want this. He swirled the dark liquid in a spiral in his cup, looking at it with innate satisfaction. No one would come over to his little corner of the table, since he complained so much that it wasn’t worth it to come and bother him about anything. Lovino was the kind to lash out or start insulting the first person to enter a five meter radius of his person, so no one pushed it. 

He’d go and check up on Feliciano later, probably when the other Italian was making another family-style dinner. It would be important to make sure he didn’t know something about what was happening, especially because of how suspicious something seemed. Lovino wasn’t certain that something wasn’t wrong, but it was better to check up before he made rash judgements - those were something he’d made and acted upon too many times before, but urgency grew as things got worse and worse. Lovino had a visceral hatred for thinking things through deeply like he had to do now, but as far as he was concerned no one else was going to do a damn thing. 

He picked up his cell phone, and tried dialing the number he knew for the police, but it came up empty, the signal having phased out again. He frowned and smashed it against the table, hearing the screen make a soft cracking noise, but Lovino didn’t care. The sooner he could get into contact with either the police or that tomato bastard Toni, he’d be able to get out of this hell. Even if it meant having to stay with Antonio until everything calmed down, Lovino didn’t care. He just wanted to get out alive. The mug of coffee was nearly empty, and he gave an obnoxious slurping noise as he downed the last portion of it. 

He just wanted himself and Feliciano to be okay - beyond that, Lovino didn’t exactly care. Sure, Feliciano annoyed the crap out of him, but the guys weren't all that bad. He’d had the fortune to discover a total of four of the bodies, after all, and it seemed almost like bad luck followed him. The man couldn’t hurt a fly, Lovino laughed through his scowl as he thought, poor Feliciano never hurting a thing and then having to find all the death.

On the floor, Arthur sat with Peter, still trying to play chess when he knew the little boy was perpetually cheating. “Stop this,” he said, his voice weary with exhaustion and stress, “If you’re not going to play the game the way it’s supposed to be played, I don’t want to play with you.”

“I can do what I want,” Peter stuck his tongue out at Arthur, “And that means if I want to take all your pawns using just my queen, I’m going to! You can’t stop me, because you don’t play well enough too!”

Arthur glowered over the game, his eyes puffy as he watched the impudent child take another pawn. He was sick and tired of just losing every single game when his little opponent wouldn’t follow the rules, even though it had been easier at the start when Peter was still getting warmed up, taking things a little bit slower. It was probably better to keep him distracted like this, rather than having the little scamp try and sneak off to go see the body like Arthur knew he’d try to do. Tino was still busy, trying to talk through a plan with Matthias and Lukas to see if he could find a way to keep the remainder of them safe. Needless to say they were relieved that Emil hadn’t come to have to go through this. Arthur sighed as he sat, wishing he didn’t come to this stupid wedding in the first place. He’d really only come out of respect for both of them, since although they’d been enemies in the past, it was their wedding and Arthur intended to keep being a gentleman through and through.

“Do you want me to keep playing with you? I’m trying to be nice here and you keep ruining it for the both of us. Either you play by the rules or I won’t play at all, alright you little brat? I’m not your mother or your father, but I won’t hesitate to go ask someone else to take care of you,” Arthur crossed his arms and looked away from Peter, who was busy making a little pattern with all the pawns he’d managed to take from Arthur so far.

Peter shrugged, “Whether or not you keep playing, that’s not going to stop me from taking all your pieces, you know,” he drew out his words, his brattish voice and British accent making him sound almost snobby as he spoke, “So I win the game! Nothing you can do, you old lazy wanker!”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Arthur snapped at him. He placed his teacup down on the table before storming over to Tino. He tapped the Finn’s shoulder with a harsh hand, waiting no more than the time it took for Tino to face him before speaking his mind. “Look, your son just called me a lazy wanker and I will not stand for that. Haven’t you raised him better? My god, go scold the kid or something, it’s hardly language someone so young should be using, let alone to someone as old as myself.”

Tino let himself be pulled away from the conversation, turning to face Arthur. Right from the first glance, he could tell Arthur was tired and more than done with his share of everything, ready to give up both at watching Peter and taking care of himself. His heart was still pounding, and he didn’t feel like he’d fully returned to being normal after Berwald’s death. A part of him hadn’t even believed he was gone, like the body was just something done up to look like the Swede, but in his mind Tino knew it was really him. It felt like a portion of his heart had been missing, his eyes still aching from the hours he lay, crying softly, unable to fall asleep. “I’ll talk to him,” he sighed, “Now that I’m alone, I might as well do the best to raise him. It’s what Berwald would have wanted.”

He almost broke down saying the words, but he managed to stay together enough to head over to Peter. Arthur stood watching with Matthias and Lukas as he gave the boy a gentle scolding and left him to pick up the chess pieces, under the assumption Arthur was no longer agreeing to play. Matthias reached over to hold Lukas’ hand, pulling him into a hug. Lukas grudgingly agreed, still feeling his heartburn from everything the previous night. Sleep hadn’t taken him easily, and it really was the scream of despair that woke him up this morning. It was nice to be so protected by the Dane, who he knew loved him with all his heart. Even as they’d fallen asleep, he felt reassured that everything was going to be okay, even though in his waking hours he became convinced of the exact opposite.

At the table across the room, Ivan sat, in his hand a large bottle of vodka. It was his second of the morning, and he did his best to drink his feelings away. For a while he’d stopped drinking for Alfred, but with him gone and his two sisters dead there wasn’t anyone there. He was alone again, just like he’d always been and always would be. On his face he wore a plastered smile, so much so that the insincerity of it was obvious to nearly everyone who walked by, but no one was confident enough to say anything about it. He still looked childlike as tears ran down his face, letting the vodka dribble slightly out of his mouth when he wasn’t able to make it in. As the haze of liquor and delirium surrounded him, the world fuzzy through his tears, Ivan became certain of one thing: there was no way he wasn’t going to go looking for Alfred. It didn’t matter what happened, if anyone helped, or if he was killed because of it: Alfred wasn’t something to be let go easily.

Ivan sighed heavily, slamming the bottle back down on the table with a depressingly hollow sound. Once he had cared, but that time wasn’t anymore. It hadn’t been so long since he held the American in his arms, caressing him. With his two sisters, he’d talked to them only the other night. Nothing had been that long ago, but with the knowledge of Louis, Ivan could feel his heart ticking like a time bomb. He knew that the amount of time Alfred would be alive was probably getting shorter and shorter, and whatever he needed to do to stop that, he would. The only thing Ivan needed now was a plan.


	8. Thicker Than Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so... turning point I guess? I hope this has enough angst (fingers crossed, sometimes it's a shot in the dark), but it got delayed again because of the end of school. Updates will be coming a little more consistently in about three days, but I'm still going to try and get them out to you as quickly as I can. Thank you eternally to my discord family who inspired this (I thank them every time, but they help me plot out), and thank you if you've decided to read up to this far! I hope you enjoy this next chapter, and look forward to more to come!

Lovino watched carefully as everyone gathered around the breakfast nook, all discussing and trying to see how the nights had treated everyone else.. The afternoon had grown on everyone while investigations took place, and now the sun was just below its highest point in the hot summer sky, allowing the world to ache with a comfortable feeling. It made everything feel not so lonely anymore, since although everyone was together, no one felt completely sure nor safe in the house. After the announcements the previous evening, hardly anyone had been able to sleep. Some were already mourning losses, specifically Ivan who now had ingrained in his mind that he had no more to lose. He could try, but the likelihood of anything holding the same amount of importance as his Fredka and now-late sisters wasn’t exactly possible for him. The morning vodka had hardly done a dent, and Raivis had poured himself a glass to get over the deaths. They’d all lived together at one point, and it felt wrong to Raivis to simply forget them without another thought. Later, he’d cry, but there was no reason now to do that in front of everyone.

Ivan, on the other hand, had painted on his picture-perfect smile that was an illusion to no one. It was forced, sure, but he bore it well in the hopes of convincing even just one other person that he wasn’t shredded inside, his heart hanging on by a single beat. Lovino knew this, but kept his distance. It would be worse to have to deal with multiple people having problems, and there was no reason for the Italian to involve himself in any of it.

On the far end of the table from Lovino, Kiku sat, still looking relatively annoyed about how he’d been woken that morning by Matthieu. He couldn’t blame the Canadian for being worried and getting him up, especially because there did end up being a problem - the man who had raised him was dead, which obviously was a bit of a shock. Still, Kiku liked having enough time to both sleep and meditate properly in the mornings, and while Matthieu knew this he didn’t fully grasp the scope of importance these activities held to Kiku. The Japanese man stood up, walking with grace over to Matthieu. He tapped the shoulder of his sweatshirt, just enough to draw Matt from the conversation he’d been engaged in with Nguyen. “I would like to head back to the room for a… chance to repose, if you will,” Kiku started, and Matthieu gave him a slight nod of agreement, “The morning was early and I have no more need to be down here.”

“Of course,” Matthieu replied, taking a pause in his conversation, “I don’t want to make you stay up too much if you’re tired. Go take a nap or something, if you think that would be best for you. I can take care of things here for you if you want, and you can come back down when you’ve had enough sleep.”

Kiku nodded, already feeling his eyes glaze over due to his exhaustion. A part of him wondered if he should kiss Matthieu goodbye, since kissing had occurred the night before in his faint recollection and it hadn’t been half bad. For so long, Kiku had tried to avoid being near and with people, and that was simply the way life was. He didn’t question it, and nor did anyone else - personal space had always been one of the things he’d valued, but turning away from the shy Canadian he almost regretted not planting so much as a gentle peck on his cheek. it didn’t matter anyway, it was far too late now to jet back over to his side and try and kiss him; Matthieu had already returned to his conversation, once again captivated in it. Kiku couldn’t blame him, there were many more interesting things than his introverted Japanese roommate, and besides, it wasn’t like Matthieu didn’t have his own life to live.

He left the room without looking back, headed for the stairs. Kiku suppressed a soft yawn as he went, ready to sleep. Vaguely did he remember the request to stick together with at least one other person, and due to his quiet nature no one noticed him leave aside from Matthieu, who had also let the order slip his mind. It didn’t matter too much, even if Kiku had managed to remember it he would have still not followed, just taken more precaution as he set up his bed and prepared for sleep. With as much conviction as he could, Kiku told himself nothing bad was going to happen. Even if they’d already seen one death as of yet that morning, nothing said that there’d just be another one out of the blue. Besides, he hadn’t known any of the dead particularly well, and so maybe if there was a pattern based on who knew who, Kiku wouldn’t really count - or so he hoped. Louis, he knew, didn’t have many connections if any inside the manor, since he stayed back at home with his boyfriend and only visited his brother or sister if anyone else. He wasn’t close in the same way with any of the guests, although he had a tendency to know everyone quite well from small talk at various parties.

Ivan watched Kiku leave, readying his plans and thoughts. He’d have to find where Alfred was being kept, that was first things first, but how he could do that was beyond the Russian. He didn’t even know if he was in the same house or somewhere else, but something told Ivan not to give up looking within the Manor. After all, the place was massive and no one had made any moves to go anywhere but the rooms they already knew about. Maybe there was a hidden room, tucked away from the rest of the house which would be an ideal place for a captive. Ivan wasn’t sure whether it would be better to go check out other possible rooms first or to plan out what he’d do when he found information on Alfred, but he decided it couldn’t hurt to take a first look around a little bit later. Although time did seem of the essence, Alfred didn’t seem to be in any momentary danger due to the fact that he was just a pawn in the game of chess they’d all gotten sucked into. Ivan knew that he himself was also nothing but a pawn, although it didn’t seem quite as dire as the situation his beloved had fallen into. 

This was because although Ivan knew that someone seemed to be calculating every move, Ivan was aware that he could be manipulated as well, perhaps every step he took was already overseen by the mastermind behind everything. Somehow they’d lost five already, and that was with everyone sticking together for the most part. Francis had been with Arthur, and it was strange thinking of him gone as well to Ivan due to their constant relations as colleagues that had stood for so many years. Ivan poured himself another glass of vodka, taking a large sip without thinking twice. He was alone when his sisters left him, except for Natalya of whom he’d almost preferred leave. Yekatrina left him, Eduard and Toyls left him, and so did little Raivis. That’s when Ivan had hoped that he’d just get them back someday, and have people living with him. He found Alfred, and it had been okay for a while, then they all moved together into this house and Ivan’s dreams of no longer living alone in silence were fulfilled. Now the chances he’d get out were slipping away and Ivan felt dread in his heart. As he cried at night, knowing not even Raivis would come to his side, Ivan had tried to send out a message over his phone to Eduard or Toyls, but got no response. It was like there was a wall - albeit an invisible one - that separated him from the rest of the world, and Ivan didn’t like it.

He smiled, knocking back the rest of the glass, the heat of tears pressing up against the backs of his soft lavender eyes which could hardly hold any malcontent. There was so much alcohol in his system that the strength in which Ivan had to hold it was dwindling, a bit of nausea kicking in. A flickery beam of light danced through the trees outside, leaving a little spot on the table near Ivan’s right fist. He made no move to block it; it was comfortable to be in this warm climate like he’d always wanted. A saying lingered in the back of his mind as the glass smashed down hard on the table, ‘if something is too good to be true, it probably is’. This had been a dream come true, and Ivan knew he was already facing the consequences of something that had been too perfect.

“Raivis?” he called out to the Latvian, but got no response.

With Arthur giving up on any reasonable childcare, he had gone over to talk to Peter, the two boys laughing at the chatted. It was probably beneficial to get the Sealandic to laugh or have any sense of merriment, especially now that he was missing a parent. Truth to be told, Peter didn’t often listen to his father nor his mother, but losing either of them was a violent slap across the face. Raivis now was one of the few things that could make him smile, the boy’s cheerful face mostly bearing an ashen expression now. He did his best not to cry, but stopping the tears was about all he had the strength for. Even if he wouldn’t admit it, Peter felt more relaxed with Raivis by his side given the calming nature the Latvian had when he wasn’t crying. Raivis tended to be a calm individual, mostly getting frightened over Ivan more than anyone else. He had a special fondness for Peter anyway, but again there were things neither of them exactly wanted to share until they knew how. It wasn’t the best of circumstances now, and if pushed maybe one of them would speak, but that time had not yet fallen upon them.

“Do you want to play something that isn’t chess?” Raivis asked, cocking his head slightly to catch Peter’s eye, “I mean… I don’t know chess very well myself and it might be nice to play something with a little less thinking.”

Peter sorted over this for a moment. On one hand, playing a game with Raivis would be nice, but Peter liked taking control over all the pieces on the board and making up his own rules. Still, he knew this was never the right approach, especially not when dealing with other people. When he’d played with Arthur, his behavior worked because Arthur annoyed him and by taking unnecessary sovereignty over the game Peter found himself navigating each and every word Arthur said as he got progressively more frustrated with the child. It also felt right to take his anger out a little bit on someone else, even if it came in the form of being an impudent brat. Peter knew he’d pulled similar antics in the past, so he didn’t worry too much about seeming outright different or ill-behaved during his time offending the Brit. “Fine. How about we play tag?”

Raivis didn’t really want to go anywhere in the house like Tag would have them do, but at the very least it wasn’t hide and seek. That would be a little worse, and he was already on edge from the happenings thus far - especially with Louis’ unexpected death. “Alright. But on the first floor only, I don’t really want to go up to the next floor because it’s scary up there. I know our room is there but still,” he paused, waiting to see agreement in Peter’s sweet blue eyes, “I just don’t feel right about some things and that’s one of them. You still want to play?”

“Yeah! It’s gonna be fun!” Peter chirped, leaping to his feet. His head still hurt a little bit from the previous evening, although he really didn’t remember too much. That was probably for the best anyway, had he remembered the effects of the drugged champagne or hearing Tino try to explain why he’d never see his father again, it would have been a lot harder to go on this morning. Thankfully, it hadn’t happened, and so there was a little bit of relief Peter found in not remembering as much as nearly any other person who had any stomach for alcohol. Raivis, on the other hand, was difficult to get drunk but the drug had overridden that and he still slipped under the compelling influence he had earlier. “Okay, the first floor it is! I’ll be it first, and you have to run! You have ten seconds and then I’m going to come and catch you, alright? Ten, nine, eight. seven…”

Raivis ran off in search of a place to hide for a bit before Peter finished counting. It was always good to be further away in this game, but it didn’t hurt to pick out a hiding spot as well. Raivis had learned this from an instance when he’d had to try and escape Ivan while he was drunk. There had been the thick stench of vodka hovering in the air around him as he stumbled around, crashing objects by mistake as he playfully called out to have Raivis come back to him, to be by his side once again. The Latvian usually didn’t try to run away, but there was accidental on purpose violence happening and he wanted to make sure he didn’t get hooked in by mistake. It could be fatal, or plain disastrous had he stayed, so the night became one long game of hide-and-seek coupled with tag. It hadn’t been fun, but even from the one occasion Raivis knew he’d learned a significant amount about how to get away from people and stay hidden. Pulling it out for a simple game like this wasn’t a big deal, and it could help him get the edge until Peter actually succeeded in catching him or he decided to give himself up to the other boy so he wouldn’t be too put out. That was the thing - Peter seemed to have an inflatable ego that hardly could be beat down. He was relatively strong as well, given that physically he had the consistency of concrete.

Lovino kept his eye on the happenings, trying to think through what had seemed wrong. He already knew something was offset with his brother, the behavior not right. In an instant, it hit Lovino hard, smack dab in the face: it was the tears. Feliciano cried over useless things, but the way he’d become upset wasn’t quite like him. The other Italian wasn’t the type to lead an expedition up to show people through tears, he was the kind to flop onto the floor and start weeping at the feet of someone stronger, like Gilbert or his brother Ludwig. It just didn’t make any sense to Lovino - he wanted to understand his brother and to help him through what was happening, but a part of his heart burned like he knew there was something behind all of these murders. It hurt Lovino too, since he couldn’t stand the thought of little Feliciano killing anyone - it didn’t make so much as an ounce of sense, especially not when all the people who had died were his friends and the guests to his wedding. There was one thing Lovino knew for certain, and that was before he accused Feliciano in front of everyone, he’d want to talk to him first. If something was wrong, maybe it was best to try and solve through it with words instead of straight-up fighting him over it.

Taking one satisfactory last sip of his still-warm coffee, Lovino picked up the cup and the empty plate on which he’d eaten his breakfast and carried them over to the sink. He didn’t have dishes as one of his chores, which was a bit of a relief since it meant Lovino knew he could leave more easily. He stood at the counter, waiting for Gilbert to come back downstairs and start with merriment making again, so he wouldn’t notice Lovino heading to his husband’s bedroom as he slept - but that was the thing, something told Lovino there was no way in hell Feliciano was sleeping right now, just like something also told him that Feliciano was somehow responsible for all of these deaths. The Italian hated himself for believing such a thing, still, but the more and more he thought about it, the more and more there was a little voice in the back of his head telling him that something was wrong and it could be chalked up to his brother. The room had heightened in sound, and as of now it was much louder than it had been before. This, Lovino opposed, almost becoming more eager to leave the room and find some actual peace and quiet elsewhere.

The only person who was in the kitchen was Lin, who was slumped over the table. She had an aching in her loins, like she’d been injured there. The morning had revealed blood - likely hers - as she washed off in the shower, but what scared the Taiwanese woman was the fact that she had on recollection of what had occurred for her to get injured, and yet whatever had happened was significant enough that her walking now happened with a limp. By no means was it pretty, but it brought another uneasy sense to her. She hadn’t told Nguyen about it just yet, herself determined to discover what had happened before she made any real announcement about it, but sitting at the table with the pain washing over her, Lin almost had started to doubt if she could do it.

Lovino surveyed the room another time, trying to spot if he could pick out Gilbert or see if he’d arrived back to the crowd already. The man, like Louis, liked being front and center stage for almost anything, so it was inevitable that he’d return. The floor and tables had been a mess left from the previous night, with everyone abandoning the party so suddenly, but now all the guests occasionally put away a bottle or two or wiped up something when they were near it. It wasn’t a full on organized mission, but everyone did their part and slowly but surely the room returned to it’s previous glory.

On the stairs, Lovino could hear footsteps, and sure enough his brother’s husband had already arrived back on the bottom floor, looking as excited as he could muster. Of course, he still lacked a little bit of the thrilled glow that usually displayed on his face - it was a sort of light in his eyes that made him look confident in a way that wasn’t quite explicable by any of the guests, but it was a nice touch to have one of the hosts so constantly excited. Lovino headed for the stairs, something else giving him a little more of the offset feeling he already had brewing in his stomach: where had Feliciano been when the announcement about Alfred came? The fat wood railing was cold but pleasantly smooth under Lovino’s touch, the only sound being his footsteps on each stair top. He peeked into Feliciano’s room, the body in the bed hardly resembling someone sleeping. He could’ve been, but again - Lovino had doubts that it was nothing more than an act. Above all else, he couldn’t wait to return back to Antonio. He’d said for so long it would be great to leave the Spaniard’s grasps, but now living anywhere but this little hell would have been heaven to Lovino, even if that meant an eternity with Antonio. Sure, he was an obnoxious bastard in Lovino’s eyes, but that was no reason to ignore his consent friendly demeanor and support.

Feliciano flailed his arm up in the bed, noticing someone watching from the crack in the bedroom door. The design of his room was mostly a chic white base, with a soft light grey comforter and a dim but large light fixture that was suspended overtop of the ceiling. From the side of his room, a balcony had been built off, with immediate access to a very comfortable set up that had seemed more than right to put it, for enjoying cups of tea while watching the skies. In the corner of the room, there was a large plant in a basin, since Feliciano often liked having a little bit of tame nature around him in the house. Whomever had been looking at him through the door before heading off in the direction of what could only have been the red room. Feliciano felt his stomach churn - maybe they were after more information, and he couldn’t have that. It almost looked like Kiku from what he’d been able to see. The insanity from earlier that day had lapsed over, but now it had come pulsating through him again in full swing. His heart raced and he cast aside the covers, taking a moment to scour the room for the very steel tipped object he’d been hoping to get his hands on.

If anything, Lovino wanted to get this over quickly and maybe go take a nap. He was all dressed for the day in his light blue pin-stripe button up and casual slacks, and he didn’t want to get too messy in his examination. Already, his breath hitched as he looked around the dull room he’d only gotten a second to see the night before. He tucked his hands into his pockets and lowered his head, since for some reason the eerie buzz of the light made him feel like there wasn’t much else that would be fitting to do. It almost seemed darker than it had yesterday, even though no outside light was able to enter the room at all. He headed over silently to the bodies, examining them to try and see if there was anything that could clue him in on if it had indeed been Feliciano. This would be an incredibly awkward conversation if he didn’t first try and make some analysis of the situation, even if he wasn’t much of an analyst himself.

Feliciano shut the door behind him as he approached the man, his back only illuminated faintly by the light. He still was unsure of who it was, but that didn’t matter. With a quick and hard swing, he smashed the man against the side of the solar plexus with his crowbar before doubling over and taking a go at his knees. Feliciano grabbed the right leg and twisted it around as quickly as he could, feeling the tension as a loud cracking noise filled the small room. He pulled back, thrusting his body weight into it as he made sure he’d dislocated it at the very least. The man started to turn around, and Feliciano smashed down on the other side of the body, he muscle and sinew not giving away too easily to the marginally weak Italian’s attempt. The other Italian crumpled to the ground, blood already seeping slowly out into his shirt, and the crazed nature Feliciano had previously had left him faster than in had before. Lovino looked up angrily in surprise and pain, letting a little forced groan escape his lips. His hand found its way to the place he’d been hit in the side of the chest, his breathing becoming more and more labored. Maybe, had there been medical attention, he would have been more confident now in his survival abilities. “You knew, didn’t you?” Feliciano mumbled, a tension working its way around his body in disbelief, “You came here to see what you could find and you…”

“You… you killed them?” Lovino asked, trying to get enough air to talk without having his voice worn and raspy. The floor was carpeted and comfortable, but that still didn’t alleviate the crippling pain that Lovino had in him. Trying to run away was out of the question, since he’d had his kneecaps busted. One leg was bent in a 180 degree angle, the majority of the knee joint having been severed completely, and the leg of the slacks had been torn with a significant hole from the crowbar’s falling position. “Fratello… why…. “

Feliciano didn’t know the answer. He killed, sure, but it was only from that strange thirst for power which loomed in him, and just became too great to control nor have any say over the majority of the time. “I- Roma it wasn’t supposed to be you! It was never supposed to be you! Sit up, live, come on, I’d never hurt you on purpose. You’re my fratello!”

Lovino coughed, a little bit of the blood already welling in his lungs seeping out his lips, a dull glaze to his eyes as he frowned. His face was scrunched up in an expression of anger and frustration as the feeling of the liquid told him that undoubtedly his time was going to be running short far too soon. Like several of the others, he had a list of regrets that surfaced at this moment, wishing he’d told Antonio for once that maybe he was a little bit less of a tomato bastard than he’d thought, or even spending more time with his stupid brat of a fratello. But then again, everything has to go at some point, and Lovino hated to know that once again his younger brother would be overshadowing him, now taking up anything that Lovino used to be. Sure, he’d already been the most loved when they were younger, but everything told Lovino that again he’d be the most loved, beyond reason. Not only that, but unlike the way he’d seen something going wrong, Lovino had a feeling that no one else would pick it up until it was too late. “Look Feliciano, you bastard. I was your fratello. Then you did this, and I think I have enough say to revoke that. So no, I don’t count as your fratello anymore. I l-l-liked you a lot even if I was a jerk about it sometimes, but how can I like my fratello who is a murderer, eh?”

The younger of the two hung his head in shame. “I don’t know. But all I know is I don’t know how to stop it - my heart knows it’s wrong, but every so often that goes away and I feel very lonely but also in the need of power, like getting the power is the only thing that can help, and so I am getting the power. I knew this might happen so-“

“This is why you tried to tell me not to come to this wedding, si? You knew all this would happen but you didn’t do a damn thing and let everyone play into your little grubby crybaby hand. Even your husband’s brother? I suppose you’re going to kill him too, even after all he’s done for you? Ah well, I don’t really care about him since he is a stupid potato eating jerk, you can kill him, but this is unreasonable, Feli! Stop this nonsense!”

Feliciano moved to his knees, sinking down beside Lovino. He already heard the throaty gasps in his breath, there wasn’t enough for the man to get any air with his lungs punctured in like that. “I lost you… and I don’t know I can because I can’t.”

There was much more Feliciano wanted to say too, the room still filled with the stench of three bodies which would soon become four. Lovino wheezed, trying to get the last words in before everything overtook him and he was gone. If only there had been some way he could have warned the others, it would have been worth it, and everything would have been alright for the remaining survivors. Perhaps just due to his pessimistic outlook on life in general - or maybe not - but something told Lovino that regardless of what he said the situation would only get worse. “Lose me and change your ways. I’m going to die because you murdered me, but if you-“ Lovino heaved, trying to take even a little more air, squinting his eyes shut with pain. He blinked back tears. “If you stop, no one else dies. Just… stop the killing… and maybe… you… can-“

His head fell back with a thud against the carpet, and the tears Feliciano had suppressed for so long came pouring out in long streams down his face, dripping onto Lovino’s chest. “Lovino? Lovino! Lovino, speak to me, say something! Please!” he slapped Lovino's face softly as his disbelieving ears were met with radio silence. A helpless sob racked his chest, “Please. Lo- lovino, please. Come back. Wake up. Stop pretending.”

No response. It was his fault. This whole mansion was his fault, Gilbird’s loss was his fault, the deaths were his fault. There was no one else to blame but him and his own dilapidating mental state. Feliciano ran a hand through his brother’s soft hair, feeling his still-warm face not yet drained of blood, although he certainly looked pale to say the least. Feliciano reached around his neck, feeling the little German necklace that had been gifted to him so many years before by Ludwig. He’d cherished it, and kept it close to his heart, but now he slipped it over his head and placed it around Lovino’s. This death he’d let someone else find, as he tucked the pendant into the top of Lovino’s shirt so it was obscured completely from view. He worked his way down the body, and winced looking at the way he’d twisted Lovino’s knee, the bone sticking out around the rest of the leg, foot facing backwards. He shut his eyes tightly as he turned it back around, so even though the leg was busted it didn’t look as terrible from the first glance. It made Feliciano feel marginally better to set at least one thing back to the way it used to be, not destroying and not completely his fault.

He helped himself up off the floor, and taking one last look at the blood coated body which used to be his fratello, Lovino, he headed for the door. The crowbar was left beside his head, the metal edges red with the light from the room and blood. Regret was fading fast, and it was only a matter of time before it would all be gone completely. This room was getting good for storing bodies. Nothing mattered anymore, it was his fault, and now it was time to do something. Something he hadn't considered before, but now made sense. The regrets had all disappeared, what was left now was only the stark raving, hungry power burn he'd felt inside him. Feliciano felt his eye twitch, the pain falling away with a numbness that overtook his heart. The tears stopped falling, and Feliciano wiped off his face with a deft sleeve, trying to make it not too obvious that he’d been crying in the first place. There was still more to be done. Coming out into the dark hallway, Feliciano made his way down the stairs and to his bedroom, where he settled upon a dense, large pillow. It had a corduroy outside, and was nearly too thick and dust-ridden to let any air through it. The design was floral, pink flowers dancing in the morning and early afternoon light. It was still early in the day, still enough for some people to have fun and set up group activities to try and keep their mind off what was happening until someone could find an escape.

From down the stairs, Feliciano could hear the cheerful sounds of merriment during breakfast ringing in his ears, and now it was time for a new game: check the bedrooms.

  
  



	9. Fool On The Hill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many characters! Okay, keeping track of who we've got has been the hardest part through this, but it's going to work out I think. I have my fingers (still) crossed that this next chapter will be as exciting for you as the previous ones have been. Thank you again to everyone who has supported me thus far, and I'll say it again - I can't believe it's nine chapters in. Thank you so much to everyone, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

It was nearly four o’clock in the afternoon, and no one thus far had noticed the losses. It made sense though - everyone had tried to stick together in the main rooms of the house, people talking to each other about what they should have done on the subject. The warm afternoon light filtered through the skylight in the living room, and through the large panel of glass that stood parallel to the table in the dining room. The place wasn’t quite ready to turn on the electric lights since they already had enough to have everything lit up comfortably. The hardwood floors were warm from the perpetual sunlight, and the oriental carpet in the hall would fade after some time if it was kept in such a direct beam. Although the place was lively and flowing with chatter and excitement, there was an undoubtedly uncomfortable feel to everything. The smiles all seemed out of place, a little bit of anxiety ranging in every voice, whether intentional or not. Arthur was on his tenth cup of tea by the time Feliciano had returned to the first floor, refreshed after taking a nap.

It hadn’t been the longest nap, but after his games he’d needed time to recover mentally, his head throbbing with pressure. It had been only two and a half hours since he’d killed his last victim, but Matthieu hadn’t noticed since it wasn’t irregular for someone to sleep that long - especially Kiku, who was notably an introvert and liked to spend his time meditating quietly in his room, only leaving when someone made it clear he had no other option. Most people were playing a game of cards on the floor and Peter and Raivis, having finished several rounds of tag, made a point to join in the game. Arthur swirled his cup around, his eyes burning as if he’d been sleepless. Nothing made sense to him anymore. The army green fabric on his own jacket pierced his heart, remembering the old days in which he wore it with Francis by his side. Maybe later he’d go back upstairs and fold up the cloak Francis had, the one that was from that time too. The navy and green lined up well together, and had he had a chance to tell Francis the feelings maybe he’d go and pull out his old coat more often just so he could be reminded of the old times. It was almost painful to wear it now in the warm room, just because of the way the memories came flowing back to him rather than evanescing into the void like he wished they would. Forgetting Francis and maybe Alfred too - it was what he’d have to do. Arthur shuddered, his body aching. None of this felt real, not anymore. Sitting with Francis and talking about what had happened, and receiving comfort - that had been real. The cup shattering on the floor - that too, most unfortunately, even though Arthur hardly remembered it. Francis bending over, then falling limply backward - even that was memorable. But after that point nothing had seemed real.

Arthur racked his brains, trying to remember something that wasn’t fake, that instead was a real part of the world, but none of it fit the bill. He drummed his fingers on the table, working them across it in a line and up the edge of his cup. This particular tea cup he’d brought from home, although the manor had plenty of dishes, there was something satisfying about using his own from home. Maybe that was the real thing - he decided, his head spinning. The cup was painted with red trim, a dotting design in blue around the midsection. In the center of the blue dots were little gold markings which looked like they had a meaning but never had one that Arthur had found out about. It too had been a gift, but from who he couldn’t quite remember. It was china, and the glossy exterior was never unwelcoming to the palm of his hand. It didn’t heat up too much, which was one of the reasons he liked it more than other cups - it never burned his hand. He picked it up to take a sip, hardly noticing the ring of liquid which outlined where the cup had been.

“Ve~ Arthur, would you…” Feliciano had come over, and was now pandering as he tried to ease his way into the conversation, “Help me make dinner?”

He bit his tongue, noting the mistake. No one would trust Arthur trying to make dinner, and it was debatable if he’d be able to trust himself. He was still notably shaken up about the results of his scones, even if what happened hadn’t actually been his fault. It wasn’t enough to just know that he didn’t do it, especially due to how much Arthur’s head and heart throbbed. He looked up in confusion, taking a moment to process everything. “I- No-“ he sighed shakily, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers, “I’ve messed up enough, damnit. My cooking’s bloody awful, and I killed Francis with my fucking scone. You still expect me to want to do it again? I’m sorry, Feliciano, but you’ll have to find someone else.”

This suited Feliciano just fine, since he already knew the man’s cooking was terrible. Besides, in his head of which sanity had forsaken, Arthur no longer saw the world as normal but as something that he could mistakenly destroy with the blink of an eye. He had scared himself, and now lived in more of a shadow of his former glory than anything else. “Alrightie!” Feliciano chirped, “I want to make handmade pasta for dinner, I just need someone to help me with it so it goes faster, because we’ve got a very large amount of people here and it will be a long time if I do it all myself. I’ll go check in with… hmm…”

“You could ask Lovi, couldn’t you? He’d probably be happy to make dinner with you if you asked nicely, even if you two do fight sometimes,” Arthur reasoned, trying to find a suitable replacement. Usually, Francis would be the go-to man due to his superior cooking skills, but he wasn’t exactly an option any more for someone to make dinner. “I mean, I haven’t seen him for a while, but surely you know where he is, you could probably ask him.” 

“NO!” Feliciano snapped at him, his eyes wide in an unnatural way. Arthur’s face wore a look of pure shock at the sudden outburst, and with heat rushing to his cheeks Feliciano realized what he’d done. He put back on his naive smile and closed his eyes back to the usual ignorant expression he wore. The Brit looked confused for a second, but then he too forgot about the suddenness, again absorbed in his own thoughtful little bubble. The color ran back out of Feliciano’s cheeks, and he looked normal again. “I mean, I think he’s napping. Ve~ he said not to bother him, or I heard him say that in the corridor outside his room. I don’t know who he was talking to, though. Ah well, I’ll go see if Tino could help- or maybe Matthias, they could be fun to talk to while we make the dinner!”

Arthur watched sullenly as the Italian walked away, a little pep in his step. It seemed strange he could be so cheerful, especially with everything going to hell piece by piece like this. He didn’t understand it; nor did he like one bit of it. Almost certainly Ivan was already plotting Alfred’s escape, and the way Arthur saw it through his now pessimistic view, they’d have two more dead before he knew it. He shook his head and stared back into the distance. Usually in times like this, he’d be able to see his friends due to his magical abilities, but it was like his brain had blocked all of it out. It was more of being unable to… think about things other than the past, like he was stuck in that moment. Arthur didn’t like it. 

Feliciano sauntered over to Tino and Matthias, both of whom were a part of the giant card game which took place in the center of the carpet. The two of them were sitting next to each other in the circle, and Feliciano tapped Tino on the shoulder, “Ciao~ Do you think you or Matthias could help me make the pastas? I want to make dinner for everyone, but it will take very long if I do it all myself.”

The Fin turned to look over at him, flipping his cards face down so Feliciano couldn’t see them as he met the face with a cheery expression of his own. While Tino had to admit he’d rather play cards, not really in the mood to talk to nor deal with anyone aside from Matthias, Peter, and Lukas, it was the right thing to do to help the house host out like that. He brushed down the front of his shirt, trying to smooth out the wrinkles and look a little bit more presentable to someone - even though no one really cared. His face hadn’t fully lost the pinkish puffy complexion from crying the night before. Maybe making pasta would take his mind off Berwald and this whole place in general. Besides, maybe he was just hungry or something - getting a little something to eat could help, and making dinner would have it go faster. Tino pushed his cards so they slid across the floor into the center of the circle, and helped himself up with one arm. “Alright, sure, I’ll help! What are we making? Pasta, you said? Let’s go make it - you’ll have to show me the method, though, I don’t know if off the top of my head.”

“Of course!” Feliciano led him to the doorway, not noticing the almost crestfallen expression hidden behind Tino’s smile. He pushed aside the large wooden maple door that separated the two rooms so effectively, Arthur still sitting dully on one of the chairs not too far away. “The method isn’t that difficult, all you need is the flour, salt, water, and a little bit of love, ve~? After that I can get some of my homemade pasta sauce that I made from Grandpa’s recipe, and… meatballs too? I think a lot of people like those, so we’ll have meatballs and salad on the side… oh, and bread! What’s fresh, homemade pasta without the bread?”

“Well just tell me what you’d like to make and how to do it, and I’ll help you do it! We still have… how many people to feed?”

“Thirteen?” Feliciano replied quickly, before realizing his mistake of forgetting to count both Lovino and Kiku, both of whom were now gone - thus, technically he was correct, but it would land him in trouble. “I'm sorry, I’m bad at counting, how about you say what it is? You can go do a headcount if you want, I really am very bad at these things~”

Tino frowned. The initial statement of thirteen seemed like far too few, even with Alfred missing and however many gone, it didn’t seem quite right to him. There had started out almost one score of guests, and somehow that number had continued to slip down, but no way could it be that low.. right? He thought through it, counting fifteen if he didn’t mention Alfred. Who had Feliciano forgotten about? He shook his head, running a hand along the slick counter surface. It was chilled to the touch, and for a moment it brought Tino out of his thoughts. “I think we’ve got fifteen, but it’s alright. Counting isn’t the easiest, I’m sure you’re fine. Now, do you want help with altering the recipe so we can make enough, if you only had it for thirteen people, you might want more,” he tried to gently reason with the Italian, even though in his heart he didn’t want to be here in the first place.

Feliciano pandered for a moment, thinking things over. “Okay, the semolina flour is in that cabinet, we’ll need a lot of it for all this pasta~” he pointed a deft hand at one of the large wooden cabinets which were relatively high, “I’ll start getting the water, it’s going to take a while to shape them all. We’ll need butter knives too, and the salt crock, but I can get that. It’s just a lot of work, but it isn’t hard. It might take an hour or two, but then we can cook it right away and then dinner will happen - ve~ it’s a little early for dinner, but that’s okay, everyone seems a little bit tired and breakfast was more like a late lunch, and so then after we make the dinner we can eat, kiss butts, and go to bed, how does that sound? It’s the best way, ooh, we can break out the wine too since it’s extra good to have a dinner with that… and some olives too, Hercules gave us some for the wedding gift but we never had them, but they’d be a tasty appetizer for us now I think, while we make the dinner!”

Tino shuffled over to the cabinet reluctantly and pulled out the vat of flour, hardly struggling with it as he lowered it to the counter, then carrying it over to the center island where Feliciano was gathering the rest of the ingredients. He had helped make the first meal too, but this was the only meal he’d done as a one-on-one. That was because they had divided into teams for each meal and chores, so everyone helped out in the house. It had been Alfred’s suggestion, since he wanted them to feel more like a family than they already did. It certainly helped, and Tino hadn’t minded having people on his team. It gave everyone a chance to get to know each other better. Tino checked the recipe, starting to pour flour out onto the counter. For a moment - as he smeared it around into the shape of a science-fair volcano - Tino forgot they were captives, unable to do anything to escape the manor which had been so peaceful for a week. He forgot Berwald. He forgot Matthias and Lukas. For a moment, it was like the world had never existed. Feliciano accidentally spilling drops of water over his flour-covered hand was what brought him back to the painful reality. “Sounds good! Let’s start making this, I think a lot of people are hungry, even though they just ate lunch but that doesn’t matter. Cards can only go so long, and the sooner we have it the better.”

“Okay, sounds good!” Feliciano replied, his tone borderline forced. He started folding the flour and water into a thick dough, the bits of it sticking to the table, but Feliciano just sprinkled more of the flour onto the table top and rolled it all back into one large light yellow ball. There was something pleasing about the way it stretched out, then halved, again and again, wrapping around and around into an infinity. He shook his head, waiting for it to be done. The day had slipped by everyone like a phantom through the walls. It was summer, and it was strange being inside all day with the plants outside all seeming bright and warm. No one wanted to risk it, though, since although the outside seemed like a good idea it might seem like they were trying to leave and something bad could happen. It just wasn’t a chance anyone wanted to take. The whole situation was fraught with danger.

Back in the room with cards, Peter joined in and Raivis took a step out of the game. Ivan was still at the table, surrounded by empty bottles of vodka he’d saved up in his room. When he ran out of one, he headed back in and went for another. At this point his head was throbbing, his grayish-tan hair disheveled, locks messily swept from side to side on his flushed face. He hiccuped, his face falling down and collapsing into his arms. He was wearing a thick overcoat which wasn’t quite fitting for summer, but he didn’t seem to care. None of it mattered. He knocked over the remainder of his bottle, the vodka spilling sideways out of it onto the table. It made a puddle, and had started to get absorbed into his sleeve when Raivis tried sopping a bit of it up with the corner of his shirt. “I-Ivan?” he started, nudging the Russian warily, “Is everything okay?”

“I want to find Fredka,” Ivan moaned, half out of his mind. His eyes ached, the sunlight making the inside of his warm coat incredibly hot. It was hard to breathe a little bit, but Ivan couldn’t exactly think of that, his mind still hung up on the missing American, “I want to look. He’s here, I know it, and I want to find him. I have to find him. He is going to be okay, da? I will make sure of it.”

Raivis shook his head violently, trying to quiet the man down before anyone else heard his ramblings, “Shh- Mister Braginski, don’t talk about it - they said not to, remember? If you try to find him they said something bad would happen to you, and it could do something to the rest of us too. Don’t go Ivan, it could be dangerous. Do you want that? I mean, there’s still a chance we can find a way to get Alfred out, but maybe not if you make it very sudden, since we could get hurt…” his voice trailed off, teary purple eyes searching for any sign Ivan understood, “What I’m trying to say is… be careful, okay? Don’t do anything without thinking it over first? I know I do a lot, but it doesn’t always end well for me, you know? I don’t want something bad to happen to more people, and… I know we’ve not been agreeing all the time in the past, but I don’t want something to happen to you either.”

“Oh silly Raivis!” Ivan laughed, running his knuckles into the top of the Latvian’s soft hair. It was a playful gesture, but the boy still flinched down at the feeling, wincing slightly at the memories of his old days when the same motions had happened only with much more pain and malcontent connected to them. “I can’t just let him rot, can I? Is that the right thing to do? I want to be safe and happy with you and my sisters and Toyls and Eduard and we can all be together again, all happy! I just have to find Fredka, he’s hiding and it’s a game. He wants me to find him, da?”

The longer Raivis listened to his voice, watching his face light up with an occasional beam of sunlight, he could hear the broken tone to it. This wasn’t a man who was smiling because he was happy, he was broken and hurt, drunk and delusional. Not only that, but he couldn’t accept what had happened, and very little had processed through his drunken fog. Alfred being gone had been one of the last things to make it through, and he still understood that much. “But Ivan, if you go… we could all be in danger, even you. Your sisters are gone, remember? We’re stuck here. We’re going to get out though… I hope… but no one really knows.”

Ivan laughed, trying to prop himself enough to take another drink. “Da! We will get out, it is not like we are the trapped! You are so silly Raivis, I must just find Fredka later because that is the game, hide and seek, but I have to have dinner first, since Fredka would want that. Then I’ll go and find him, because he’d want me to keep playing the game. He left last night, and he said I had to find him, which I can do-“

“Mister Braginski, if Peter was missing I’d be worried too… but… I wouldn’t go after him if it could hurt the other people, right? I don’t think you have a good idea to go find him - he’s not playing, he’s a hostage, and if you get him, we could all be,” Raivis swallowed the hard lump forming in his throat, “Killed. Or hurt. Or anything worse than that, right? I mean… you don’t want that, do you?”

Ivan thought for a moment. He inhaled, the thick scent of whisky on his breath, trying to think if he cared or not. If he couldn’t find Alfred, the two of them couldn’t leave - something which made the most sense in his mind. Besides, he had no intentions of going anywhere without the friendly American, since even though he still majorly was in denial, he was aware inside his heart that Yekatrina and Natalya wouldn’t return. He’d seen - no, touched - their bodies, something which was all too real and thus manifested itself in the feeling of a strange dream. He thought about the flowers, still sitting on the bedstead where he’d seen them be lovingly placed. It’d take a few days before they’d start wilting, if he didn’t put water in them. Maybe it was a bit like a relationship, if you didn’t put care into it, the thing would fall apart. Ivan bit his lip - no, his love for Alfred would never die. He wouldn’t let it. Too many had been lost, and there was no reason to let Alfred slip through his fingers like sand, like other people he’d loved. “As long as I find Fredka, that’s what matters. Nothing more.”

“If that’s truly what you believe,” Raivis started, then stopped, “Then I don’t know what else I could say, aside from ‘don’t do it’ because Mast- Mister Braginski, it’s dangerous, not just for you but for all. You could get hurt. Alfred could. Someone else could. We don’t know.”

About an hour later, Feliciano walked out of the kitchen as he brushed his hands on the little dish towel he’d turned into an apron. There was still some flour on them from shaping all the pasta, and Tino looked about the same except he’d managed to get a good amount of it rubbed all over his face too. “Alright! Dinner is going to be ready soon, we’ll be setting up the table and getting everything ready to eat,” he took a second to look over at Ivan, and then behind himself to look at Arthur, both of whom seemed to be taking most of this the hardest, “It’s pasta night, Tino helped me make it! It’s a special recipe that’s been in the family for generations.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Matthieu sat up, tossing his remaining card into the center of the circle, “Kiku is still upstairs. I’ll go grab him for dinner - oh, but we were supposed to stick together. Will someone come with me? Oh wait-“ the Canadian’s smile gradually evanesced into a grimace, “Merde- Kiku didn’t have anyone with him- Shit-“

It wasn’t common for the soft-spoken man to curse, but when he did it usually was serious. Matthieu raced up the stairs, Gilbert trying his best to keep up as he yelled behind him, “Slow down! I have to come too, remember? Safely? SLOW DOWN MATTHIEU! I’m sure nothing happened to Kiku!”

“Well, you seemed pretty sure nothing would happen to Gilbird,” Matthieu called back, bracing himself from sliding in his socks by pushing against walls as he ran towards them. Being hit by a wall wasn’t the ideal way to spend the evening, and he wanted to be extra careful about not concussing himself before checking on Kiku or eating dinner. “Anyway, come on. Why did you guys make this place so big? How is anyone supposed to get anywhere with any efficiency - it’s like it was designed for someone to come in and kill people, there’s no way you can just make it from point A to point B."

Gilbert panted, leaning down onto his knee as they reached both the top of the stairs and a few rooms down the cornflower corridor, Kiku and Matthieu’s room. Matthieu let his chest rise, the sweatshirt he wore looking almost larger for a second before he bravely held onto the edge of the doorway and flicked on the plastic white light switch relatively far up on the wall on the room’s interior wall. From the first glance, he surveyed the room: there were a couple pillows on the floor, and Kiku’s figure in the bed. Matthieu closed his eyes for a moment in grateful relief, “Kiku, you’re fine. It’s dinnertime, come up out of that bed,” he watched for any sign of movement from the figure, his head seemingly buried deep in pillows. Matthieu scrunched up his face like a frustrated toddler, remembering that Kiku could be a heavy sleeper. He marched over and shook him, the already messed-up bed sheets just gathering more and more wrinkles. “Alright, get up. It’s dinner time, okay?”

Kiku’s hand fell limply off the futon, banging against the floor softly. Matthieu jabbed him in the back a couple of times, trying to elicit some kind of response. Receiving none, and having Gilbert leaning casually against the doorway watching with intent, he rolled Kiku over onto his back. His eyes were wide open, staring up lifelessly at the ceiling. His face was purple, the blueish color especially prominent in his lips. In the front of the white kimono he’d been wearing were a couple of red stains, like something had pressed down on his chest too hard, broken a rib or two, and left the shreds of its aftermath out in the open for everyone to see. “Kiku?” Matthieu whispered, putting a hand up to feel the Japanese man’s face as his breath quickened, “You’re… they got you too? I- I should’ve done more. I’m sorry. I’ve failed you.”

He stood up, turning away from the body on the futon. A part of him still didn’t believe it, not with one ounce of his heart, but he told himself to be strong and try to accept. Matthieu’s hand coiled into a fist, and as he left the room with his head hung low he flicked off the light deftly, leaving everything in darkness. Gilbert put an arm around his shoulders, and it was welcomed as Matthieu leaned against him, still trying to keep himself strong. By the time they had trudged back down to the dining room, everyone was all set up and ready to eat, empty places for Gilbert, Lovino, Kiku, and Matthieu. The two took their seats willingly. “Did you see Lovino?” Feliciano asked, bringing a fork up to his lips, the pasta coiled around it.

Gilbert shook his head, starting to heap a large mound of the salad that had been prepared onto his plate. All the food looked appetizing, but the only two who seemed to be neglecting it were Ivan and Arthur, Arthur unable to eat another bite after Francis - he didn’t trust the food anymore. “No, we couldn’t find him” Gilbert replied, “But then again, we didn’t look. We were stopped when we saw-“

“Don’t tell me someone else is gone,” Nguyen muttered, reaching to take some of the pasta herself, “What good is it if people keep dropping? Who did we lose? Kiku?” she looked ashamed, her eyes drifting down to the plate as she went in with her fork for the first bite, “That’s a shame. He was a good man, we should honor him tomorrow somehow. I’ll think of something - Lin, you can help. We’ve got to come up with something for him, and everyone else we’ve lost. It’s right to honor them even if we don’t make it out ourselves.”

Lin laughed, breaking the table’s sullen demeanor. She put down her fork to lightly sock Nguyen across the arm, trying to keep things light-hearted and cheerful despite how she felt. It wasn’t easy, but if trying to be upbeat did it, then that was all she needed. “You are so pessimistic, of course we will make it out! It is not that far, now, seriously - we’ll be out in no time.”

After dinner, Feliciano started gathering back up the plates to carry them into the kitchen. Sometimes he felt like he’d be caring for these people like children until the day he died, but it wasn’t an unwelcome feeling. There was still the thirst for power and energy he’d felt before, but unlike the other times it didn’t go away. It felt more insatiable than ever, eating at him like a ravenous beast as he carried in the painted ceramic dishes. He nearly ran into the doorway, tripping over his own foot, and that was when Gilbert decided to take the dishes from him and tuck Feliciano back into bed. Ivan headed up after them as well, since he too found himself weary of the day and ready for rest. Tomorrow he’d figure out what to do about Alfred.

Feliciano waited for Gilbert to shut the door firmly behind him before sneaking up out of the bed, down the corridor to his secluded room where Alfred was sitting in the chair, staring back at the wall. His speaking abilities were still minimal, but Feliciano didn’t mind. That wasn’t the important part, after all. The important part was that he had Alfred here, and it was perhaps time for a little bit of a game. Since a day ago, things had changed, and the moral rights and wrongs had blurred lines into one definition that no longer had meaning to Feliciano. He pulled the chair over to the desk. It was still cleaning up from dinner time, maybe they’d even moved onto having desert too. Playing cards carefully would be important, especially if he were to get what he wanted - and now, what he wanted was vengeance for his own worthlessness. He’d killed Lovino, some of the only family he had left. His own brother. In an accidental fratricide. He would never be called a bastard of anything again - usually that was a positive thing, but now it just hurt even more to know he wouldn’t hear the voice, not even making a complaint about something useless. He rang Lovino’s phone up on his, watching the glowing screen as the voice recorded into the answering phone echoed out into the study. “Ciao Bastard, you have reached Lovino Vargas, nice work. Anyway, you’re probably bothering me, so don’t even bother and if you leave a voicemail I’ll kill you because they’re annoying as fuck, capisci?”

Feliciano set it down, tears welling in the bases of his eyes. He turned back to Alfred, who looked half-scared out of his wits from what Feliciano could see of him through the twitching of his eye. He inched towards the desk, searching until his hand fell upon an oriental-looking box. Feliciano opened it up, holding a faded-over dagger in one hand. Alfred barely noted the blood-shot nature of his eyes which had not been able to sleep as he slipped further and further into the realm of his own insanity. Using the tip of the blade, Feliciano pushed up the bottom of Alfred’s sleeve, revealing the bare skin in the dimly lit room before dragging the tip down harshly, pulling forward until he ran into the wrist restraint he’d placed around the arm of the chair. He could hear the muffled screams, Alfred trying in vain to call out and bite his tongue to numb the pain. Blood had already begun to spill out of the open wound like Ivan’s bottle of vodka. 

Alfred yelled out as best he could, and Feliciano smiled hearing the sound. He hated himself for doing this, and certainly a part of his heart did protest, but Feliciano was beyond caring. “You know what? It hurts, doesn’t it?” he asked, pulling the blade across again, a little disgusted with the blood, “Ve~ I’m sorry- but I didn’t have a choice, I had to do it - I’d kiss your butt but I can’t, not like this. Do you want Ivan?”

The American nodded as best he could, his forehead still caged backwards with the restraints, his breathing lapsing into hyperventilation with each touch of the steel knife working it’s way up his arm. He’s surely bleeding out, but would no longer be captive if Ivan came. Ivan would save him - the man was strong, and while Alfred knew he himself was strong as well, the foreseeable ways out of this situation without any help were limited. If only he could have saved someone, not just falling into the category of the damsel in distress - this of course was a fleeting thought, his head turning back to much more important matters like begging the Italian to stop. “Alrightie!” Feliciano smiled, leaning across the desk to flip open the panel he’d used before to speak. He leaned back into Alfred, taking his other arm in his hands. The knife hovered above it, trembling in Feliciano’s anxious grip. There was pain in his eyes, something Alfred had never been close enough to notice. “Let’s call him, shall we?”


	10. We'll Meet Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: lots of gore. Over half this chapter is gore. If you don't like gore, don't read it for your own sake - I just want to make sure this warning is up here. That aside, this was pretty intriguing to write - again, thanks to my wonderful discord family for all their help with plot plans and analysis, they play a solid part in plotting this out and working through character logic! Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this!

Ivan had started to settle in for the night in their shared room. He pulled back the unkempt sheets, which still smelled faintly of Alfred from two nights before. He’d already slept alone for one night, and getting used to the feeling of not having the slender warm body beside him wasn’t something Ivan wanted to do. He tried to find a comfortable way to lay, the coat he wore rubbing against him. He hadn’t bothered to change or put on pajamas, since it wasn’t like there was anyone there to insist he do. The cold air of the room was harsh without someone to be beside him, and the bed covers offered little solace to that effect. Not the same way a person did, anyway.

The Russian moaned, burying his face into the pillow. He held it as if it were a body, even though by no means was it long enough for him to fully pretend it was Alfred. In his drunken state of mind, he’d let slip the need to go and find Alfred as if they were playing some kind of game. He closed his eyes tightly. The very faint sound of something clicking came from the corner of the room and Ivan ignored it, just trying to focus enough to fall asleep. It kept up, the slow interval gradually accelerating until radio static patched through, and then the faint sounds of… muffled screams? They sounded vaguely familiar, but being drunk, maybe it was all in his mind. Ivan shook his head, moaning again as he tried to ignore it. It didn’t help. Within a heartbeat, he recognized the voice, and with shame he leapt out of the bed to find wherever the hell Alfred was being kept - especially since from the sound of it, something bad was happening.

His fingers tightened around the metal knob, and he pulled hard, nearly jerking it out of the frame. The wood side smashed into his knuckles, but he was already too far gone to register any of the pain, practically ignoring the red bruise marks he already had forming up on his knuckles. It had to be around here somewhere, he’d heard it not too long ago. “Fredka?” he called out, as if trying to get his attention would do anything - if Alfred was legitimately gone, then he wouldn’t be able to respond, but Ivan held out hope. “Fredka, answer me? Are you here?”

Ivan stumbled down the corridor, tripping over his own feet in a clumsy manner which was almost non-befitting of him. He always walked calmly, his footsteps heavy and suiting of his largish body. More often than not, it was meandering rather than walking with purpose, since more often than not Ivan liked to stop and look around at the world around him. Waiting to smell the flowers always kept a little ember of happiness burning in his spirit, and Ivan would have likely been terribly lonely more than he already was had this not existed. It was that attitude and sunflowers which kept him going in the hardest times. While the sunflowers were still there, with Alfred everything had become different, the world no longer feeling quite as empty. He ran his hand along the wall, trying to find the entryway to a place he hadn’t been before. Only logically it had to be somewhere, and Ivan knew in the back of his mind that if he kept a hand on the wall he’d be more apt to find secret passageways. “Fredka? I love you, ya lyublyu vas, please say something.”

His arm slipped down the edge of the passageway which Feliciano and Alfred had walked down the previous night, when it was just for a meeting about business. There was too much business happening here, but always the wrong type, not the kind of thing which should have come up when he was spending what had been supposed to be a nice bit of relaxation during and after a wedding. Ivan tripped down the passageway, finding the little study door at the end with surprising ease. It was more or less by default in his mind, the fact that he’d found it, and before even entering the room something told his drunken mind that a terrible happening was going on in there. He smiled to mask the pain, although there was no longer anyone to smile for. Ivan’s face was barely illuminated and making his way to the door became increasingly difficult, the edges of the corridor outlined very barely in the dim light. His hands found the solid wood designs of the door and he scrambled to find the knob. While it wasn’t ajar, still closed, the door wasn’t locked. From the inside, Ivan could hear the strangled cries of his lover, which only made him more and more frantic to try and get in. His palms were damp with sweat, and they slipped over the outlines in the door before he finally settled upon the handle. It was this level of drunkenness which prevented him from making legitimately efficient reactions.

“Fredka?” He called again, his soft voice sopping with anxiety. The chances he’d get an answer were minimal, but it didn’t matter. Ivan thrust the door open, nearly falling over himself into it. He looked up through bleary eyes, immediately setting upon the image of Alfred sitting in the chair, Feliciano digging a slim blade through his hand.

For the first time in a long time, Ivan gasped. He’d seen many things over his life, but nothing could have prepared him for seeing this happening to Alfred - especially not with his mind spinning, the world a mere blur as he tried his best to focus on one thing. It didn’t work. The pulpy fibers of stubborn nerves were pulled out of his lover’s arm before snapping, the thick red liquid inside of them spilling out onto the floor, chair, and jacket. Feliciano had started ripping the fabric down the top of Alfred’s arm, leaving the pale, bare skin exposed for easier knife access. He whimpered, the gag barely holding over his trembling lips.

A part of Ivan wanted to break down in tears. There wasn’t much he could do, and his thinking was severely slowed already. Yet, he knew he must take some kind of action to rescue Alfred. Feliciano leaned back on the desk, finding a spray bottle which he held in one hand. Alfred watched, his eyes wide as he tried to decipher what the Italian planned on doing. “Ve~ I’m so glad you came to join us! It’s really very lonely with just two people, but we can have fun now with three of us! Thank you for coming Ivan!” Feliciano laughed lightly, finishing his severing motion down the sleeve. The fabric fell away on either side, tiny goosebumps forming up on Alfred’s arm. Under the gag, he bit his lip, squirming as much as possible in the chair.

“What are you doing to him?” The Russian asked, his tone innocent in an almost threatening way, “Feli, I thought we discussed that you would not do the murder, only I would, da? Put down the knife and you no get hurt. I don’t want to have to destroy you, but if you don’t stop I’ll have to.”

The Italian laughed, positioning the spray bottle at the Russian. He started pulling the trigger on it, the liquid spilling out all over the Russian’s long coat. He hardly noticed, standing still as he tried to process what was happening. It was as if there was some reason Feliciano was spraying him with something that looked nothing more than water, but it probably didn’t matter. If the man had truly fallen off his rocker, there was no reason to have concern surrounding a little bit of liquid. Ivan waited, before swinging wildly at the Italian. The bottle was nearly empty, and Feliciano threw it to the side. It clattered against the wall, but it didn’t matter as Ivan stumbled for another hit at Feliciano. No one would hurt his Alfred. Feliciano ducked, narrowly missing cracking his knee on the corner of the desk. It still scratched up against his thigh a little bit, and would undoubtedly leave a mark. He grimaced, holding the knife in a tighter grip. He pulled himself closer to Alfred until his face was mere inches away from the other man’s face. He rested the tip of the blade at the top of his shoulder, only letting it dig in a tiny bit without breaking the skin.

Although he’d already been frantic, Alfred’s panic levels were rising. He tried to move his head just enough to see what was happening, both of his hands already pulpy, the bone exposing if he looked closely on his right hand. His breath was ragged and fast, anticipating what would happen next. Ivan started walking heavily towards Feliciano. “Stop hurting him, or you will not like what happens.”

“Stop coming to me, ve~” with a sharp thrust the knife was embedded a centimeter into Alfred’s shoulder, and he let out another muffled scream, begging Ivan with his eyes, “If you do come, I might do something to you, too!”

Ivan stopped moving, and with the knife still in Alfred’s shoulder, Feliciano leaned over to the desk and flicked a little wooden switch which camouflaged itself with ease into the rest of the table. There was a clicking noise that came from the door, and Ivan spun around in sudden terror, trying to pry it open. Feliciano laughed. “It’s okay, you won’t be able to go - it’s more important to have friends, right? Come sit and stay with us!” 

“I won’t sit down,” Ivan shook his head, his body swaying from side to side with delirium. He wished he’d been able to sleep off some of the alcohol before coming here, but that hadn’t been much of an option. The world didn’t revolve around him, and thus this unexpected happening wasn’t out of the ordinary. Still, the standing still didn’t exactly process, and Ivan took another step towards Feliciano. The Italian pushed the knife in a few more centimeters until it hit bone, taking some effort to cut through the muscle fibers and cartilage, but it was no different then cutting chicken like he typically made for dinner. Alarming, sure, but the pent-up rage from Lovino’s death was expelling slowly, with each inch he slit down Alfred’s arm and each bit of fear shining in Ivan’s violet eyes. “Stop it!” Ivan cried, pushing Feliciano away from Alfred.

The Italian staggered backwards in surprise, making sure that as he fell he made his way closer and closer to the desk. Ivan stared at Alfred, who already had a bit of consciousness fading but was ultimately not going to pass out too quickly. The Russian held his chin in his fingers, reaching his other hand to mop the man’s brow. Alfred’s face was already damp with perspiration, his features contorted in pain as he tried to yell out or say anything to help the pain, but it wasn’t like there was a word he could utter to change anything. Some of the red liquid had oozed out onto Feliciano’s jacket, and although the rest of him was well put together, the stains were already starting to detract from his typically neat appearance. “I-Ivan?” he asked, suddenly surprised. 

He slipped one hand back to the desk, and found a little cardboard box. He opened it, and with trembling fingers took out a match. Scanning the Russian, in an instant, Feliciano knew Ivan wouldn’t see him, he was too engaged in checking up on Alfred although neither of them could leave. They were sharing a kiss, the taste of vodka on Ivan’s lips and breath filling Alfred’s senses, even though he couldn’t very well forget the pain. His skin was sticky as the substance dried and tears had begun to well up in the corners of his eyes, trickling onto Ivan’s face as they fell down. “I’ll get you out of here, Fredka,” Ivan promised, his eyes closed as he stayed close to his lover, still hearing the whimpering, “We’re going to be together. I’m sure someone has medical knowledge, they’ll help you.”

Feliciano struck the match on the side of the box, the top of it igniting into a little pyre of fire. He smiled, eyes still half-closed in the juvenile way they always were, making him look younger and carefree. “Ivan, look here!” he called, waving the match slowly in the air to get attention. The Russian pulled away from Alfred, the chest of his jacket stained maroon. “Catch!”

The young Italian tossed the match, which flew through the air and landed just in the neckline of the Russian’s jacket. The stench of smoke and burning flesh started seeping from his body, and within seconds the coat - specifically the places which had been dampened from the liquid - went up in flames. Ivan laughed, the nerve feeling deadening. In his head, he couldn’t remember the proper defense to fire - but he did know he had to get away from Alfred so the American wouldn’t catch on fire along with him. He stayed away from the edges of the room, and the chair - if anything else started to burn he could doom both of them to death, no- there had to be something to set the fire out with. Water? Sand? Alfred had gotten rid of the gag with much struggling, and now he yelled out, desperate for someone to hear and come looking like Ivan had - only instead of helping, Ivan was now burning up in a fire, his soft smile trembling as he tried to think about what to do. “SOMEONE HELP!” Alfred screamed, tears flowing from his eyes. He didn’t know how to deal with the situation most of the time, but it was going to be too late for his arms and he was watching Ivan burn up, Feliciano watching like a psychopath. “Come! Please! Anyone! HELP!”

Feliciano tilted his head to one side, wiping the hunks of flesh that got caught on the sides of the knife. “Al, you know the room is soundproof, right? No sound comes in, none goes out- ve~ you’re one of the only people who knows it exists in the house! And Ivan?” he gestured over at the man who frantically patted himself, trying to slow the spread in his already blackening skin, “The stuff I put on him was kerosene that Gil bought for the grill outside, but it has other uses and it’s much better than just making dinner and kissing butts, right? Now tonight you both will sleep well because you won’t have to get up in the morning, isn’t that the best part of vacation? There won’t be a need for either of you to wake up again, you can sleep as long as you like!”

Ivan let out a panicked shriek as he realized there wasn’t much he could do, his head throbbing. He watched Alfred intently, his hair starting to fizzle with the light of the fire, his face both charred and bloody as the fire reached in and ripped his skin, his ability to see hazing over in the black smoke that came off him. Ivan choked at the smell, his whole body flaming and aching at the same time. It was all he could do to keep trying to pat at it. “It’s so warm,” he forced a pathetic laugh, the left side of his face entirely burned off, his teeth exposed around a bubbling burn which used to be his mouth, “I always wanted to be this warm.”

“I-Ivan?” Alfred murmured, his eyes still shut tightly. He already knew what was happening without watching it with his own eyes. Although Ivan could no longer see particularly well and Alfred could, he knew that it would be short lived. Feliciano headed back over to Alfred, who sat in the chair.

“Are you ready for the last show, Mister Braginski? Ve~ This will be fun!” he flipped the knife in one hand and stabbed it as hard as he could into Alfred’s other shoulder, which up to this point hadn’t been touched. It pierced through the fabric with a faint tearing noise, hitting without a sound into the shoulder bone. Alfred cried out, trying to pull himself away but failing to under the tight bonds holding his body in place. He rocked back and forth, the steel blade only digging deeper with each motion; there was no way he could diffuse the situation, it was too late. His chest rose and fell with the speed of a machine, everything like clockwork. From his lips escaped a ragged sound resembling a desperate animal trying to escape a predator, like a pleading whine. It took significant effort to slice both through the fabric and the arm, but with a groan Feliciano made it through, Alfred watching Ivan with hope that he’d find some way out. With regret in his heart, Alfred wished he hadn’t gone in the first place and that Ivan hadn’t come, not to this little annex room and not the trip in general. Both of them had wanted to attend the wedding, and Feliciano had wanted them to attend it too, so it ended up working out for all three of them - until now.

“Don’t hurt Fredka-“ Ivan pleaded through tears on his cheeks, more and more bone being exposed as he died, watching Alfred being sliced open in front of him, “Please.”

Feliciano yanked the blade out, and Alfred watched as he brought it around to just under his chin. Alfred shook his head frantically, unable to speak through the tight little moans from the pain. The auburnette drew his hand back before plunging the blade into Alfred’s chest, on the left side. He started pulling down, hearing the now-screams from the American that were getting quieter and quieter as he started to expire. There was an imploring look in his eye that shone brightly, asking again and again if Feliciano would stop or if the fire on the Russian would slow down. Instead, Ivan walked a little closer to Alfred, although keeping a safe distance from the fire. The alcohol he’d spilled on himself didn’t help either, the clothing mostly gone into ashes and embers. “Fredka-“ Ivan murmured, hating himself again and again for being able to do nothing to take the knife or salvage his dying lover. He choked back a sob, unable to cry from the tears dissolving in the dancing flames, “We’ll meet again, da? I won’t leave you.”

“I-Ivan,” Alfred panted, his face paling from blood loss. He tried to bring his hands into fists, but was unable to; the joints all splayed out on his trembling arms weren’t any use now. Any feeling he’d had began to evanesce, the room feeling no more real than a faint memory or a dream. He still didn’t understand why Feliciano did any of this, why he was killing them both. It didn’t make sense, and losing both a friend and a life hurt more than Alfred would have been able to say. “L-leave you.”

Ivan shook his head, falling to his knees as he tried to pat down the fire to no avail. “We’ll meet again soon Fredka. Ya lyublyu vas. See you soon.” He could barely talk from the numbness in his face, the features all melting downwards until he looked like a wax figurine who had started to be overpowered by fire. Although he wasn’t wax, the way the skin had sunk in around his eyes and bones did make him look like a malformed sculpture, Feliciano being the brutal painter. The Italian took a step away from everything, innate satisfaction in his heart. It was shameful, even in his own mind, to take pleasure from such a thing - but as time passed he cared less and less, and now the moral regret was just more background noise, sub secondary to the din that pounded in his head. Alfred’s eyes rolled back, his head sinking into the cushioning of the chair. As he departed, in a split second he hoped Ivan was right, that this wouldn’t be the last time they saw each other. The world would be lonely without Ivan. 

Even though Ivan had known it was coming, actually seeing Alfred die like that took his hope. Before, while he could still see the unmarred face of the American watching him, there still felt to be some hope in the escape. It wasn’t all futile, he could save him and they could leave together. It would have been freeing. Feliciano pulled the knife out, and with a careful motion slipped the first couple inches into his mouth, Alfred’s tongue lolling out to one side. Tugging the metal on the corner of his mouth, he pulled a couple extra centimeters which revealed his teeth, Alfred’s jaw sinking down lower than it would have been had all the skin still been intact. Ivan tried to sob, whine, cry or anything, but his vocal chords had burned beyond speaking abilities, and within seconds he fell completely onto the floor, Feliciano watching as he marked lines across Alfred’s legs and neck, damaging him more and more. It didn’t matter; he was dead.

As much as Ivan couldn’t, he watched Feliciano, unable to look away from the defiled body he’d loved so many times before, the one that bore a happy expression and a cheerful demeanor. No, this man and the body in front of him, the sides of the mouth slit up in a macabre smile, this wasn’t Alfred. Alfred was somewhere else, away from here, Ivan considered, because surely this couldn’t have been the same man. Darkness and smoke enclosed the Russian, and with a shuddering cough everything was gone. Soon enough he’d be reduced to nothing more than a pile of ashes. Feliciano watched, the remains getting more and more charred. He smiled faintly, any sense of regret now completely gone. One hazel eye twitched, and Feliciano shook his head, trying to clear it. Going back to everyone else, he’d have to wear a different jacket - but first, he’d have to attend to something - changing before Gilbert found him, and slipping back into the bed he was supposedly asleep in. He sighed, looking in a little mirror tethered to the bookshelf. Casually, he ran three fingers through his hair, ignoring the bodies in the background, Ivan’s still on fire. Feliciano sighed as he realized he’d have to finish putting out the fire so it wouldn’t burn down this annex room, in the case he still needed it for anything besides planning. After all, these games were quite far from done.

Matthias was headed upstairs for the night, just about ready for bed. It had been a long day, and as he tried to forget the events of the day he grew more and more exhausted. Lukas followed him at the heels, not wanting him to get picked off or something like that. Tonight all the bed situations had been rearranged, since no one exactly wanted to be bunking alone. Feliciano was tucked into bed, Gilbert already settling down beside his sweet lover, who was drifting swiftly into dreamland. Lovino and Ivan were set to share, only because of circumstance and no one sleeping alone, and Arthur had agreed to take Matthieu in for the evening, since they were family anyway. By default, Tino and Ludwig had gotten a similar assignment - since Peter and Raivis shared a room anyway - but neither was all too pleased with it and both ended up sleeping on opposite sides of the room, on the floor.

With one hand Matthias brushed his teeth, the other tightly wrapped around Lukas’. “Den, are you going to let me go?” he asked somberly, trying to find his own toothbrush. It was almost endearing the way the man held onto him like that, already shaken up so much from the happenings. Everyone who hadn’t already lost someone had become increasingly protective of their loved ones, and Matthias had already lost his younger brother, Berwald. Although he didn’t directly realize it, apprehension held him tight when it came to Lukas - he’d been without a lover for so long, and Lukas meant more than the world to him.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Matthias dropped Lukas’ hand and scratched the back of his head sheepishly, “I didn’t realize I had it, guess it slipped my mind.”

Lukas shook his head, taking his own toothbrush and filling it with toothpaste, ready to brush up himself. “That’s fine,” he replied, his mouth already full of the minty flavor. Matthias did seem a little dismayed with the loss of his hand, and beyond that Lukas hadn’t cared too much about whether or not he had it, especially since the Dane had a warm palm which was comforting in a way. He shook his head, mid-toothbrush. “I’ll take it back afterward. I just needed my hand free for a moment to do this, but then I’ll give you it back.”

Matthias smiled cheerfully, a little bit of the bubbles dribbling out the side of his mouth. He quickly wiped them up with a spare tissue from the box sitting on top of the back of the toilet. He spit out into the sink, then tossed the plastic brush aside with a clatter, waiting moments for Lukas to follow suit before he snatched back the hand in his. “You have nice hands, you know that Norge?” he asked, running his fingers nimbly over the knuckles he knew so well, “Just stay with me, okay? If someone comes to get you, I’ll hit them with my battle axe, just say the word!” he gave a zany laugh, “I’ll protect you Norge!”

The Norwegian pushed the side of his head gently, feeling his soft blond hair on his palm. This only made Matthias laugh harder as they sat down in the bed, both already changed to sleep whenever may be. Even if there was no leaving the mansion, and either could die, it was worth it to have someone by his side. Lukas wrapped his arms around Matthias, pulling the larger body closer to his. In a way unbeknownst to him, the Dane always felt warm and comfortable, and it was never an unwelcome sensation to lie next to him like that in the bed. Lukas sighed softly, closing his eyes as he rested his head on Matthias’ shoulder. The Dane leaned into his body, laughing softly as he unclipped the hairpin Lukas always forgot about before going to sleep. Matthias has started to question whether or not it was actually done intentionally, leaving the hair clip in like that. He closed his eyes, more than ready for sleep as well. Intertwined, their bodies and their hearts, the two men drifted easily into slumber.

Across the hallways connecting all rooms, Ludwig sat up on the pile of blankets he’d set up on the floor on the other side of the room of Tino. He’d have to sleep soon, that was true. Before all this, he’d asked Feliciano to be his too - but that had fallen through, and times had changed as his brother took the cake. He didn’t blame Gilbert, and he was more than happy his brother had been able to find the love he’d thirsted for so long. On the other hand, Ludwig had his own thoughts to be ashamed of - occasionally involving the Italian, he wondered what life would have been like had it not been Gilbert, had it been him. Ludwig shook his head, disgusted with himself - how could he think such things, with his brother and… friend… in just the other room. It wasn’t right. More than anything, he was able to blame himself for it - even in this house of horrors, he couldn’t escape the thoughts that had eaten at him for longer than he could remember. Rather hopelessly, he closed his eyes and buried his face into the pillow, still lying on top of all the blankets. 

Tino watched from across the room, feeling the tiniest bit intimidated by the frustrated sigh the German made. He didn’t know Ludwig especially well - he was a quiet man, and so although he knew things about people, he didn’t know them personally and thus was ill-equipped to judge their thoughts and interactions most of the time. Ludwig exhaled forcefully again. He’d taken all the sheets off his bed to make this sleeping area, which really was a single grey blanket, but no one commented due to the fact that gaging his reaction wasn’t the easiest thing to do. Tino traced the patterns on the old blanket he had. It was a light blue, and Berwald had knitted it for him when they were younger and not together; it had served as a birthday gift. He’d worked especially hard to pick out a pattern and a yarn, the finished product being something Tino had cherished for years upon years. 

Holding it in his hands now, pulled over himself felt like he was younger, in the past. He pictured himself standing and receiving the blanket as a gift, the half-smile that was so rare to see on Berwald’s face showing up as Tino hugged him in thanks. It had been one of their better moments and reminiscing on it almost hurt, but Tino tried to put his feelings behind him. They didn’t matter. What was most important now was getting Peter and himself out safely, whatever that might mean. Tino pressed the fabric against his chest, the soft but well-loved worn texture more comforting than he’d realized. It elicited a sense of melancholy in his heart, and with it he felt a little more confident about escape. “I’ll keep him safe, Bur,” Tino murmured at the ceiling, as if Berwald could hear him, “We’re going to make it out. For you.”

Noise slowly died down in the house. Ivan and Lovino had been forgotten about by everyone except Feliciano, and were assumed to already have fallen asleep in a shared room. It was scary how silence filled in around everything, the rooms each shutting off lights and either filled with sounds of snoring or happy sighs of lovers, if any. Without knowledge of the new deaths, everything felt at peace for a short amount of time. No one was in the process of dying, and even if people were dead, there was an uneasy amount of acceptance that in the moment there was little they could do. Whomever the killer was didn’t seem to act during the nights when everyone slept - and besides, they were all in rooms with someone else, no one alone. The best thing to do now would be to wait for the morning and evaluate from there. Matthieu shook his head as he tried to sleep, Kiku’s face flashing through his mind endlessly. Although he wished he’d be able to go back in time and fix everything, his aching heart told him this wasn’t possible. He’d just have to try and sleep, and then come up with a way to save his brother and the others. Right now, though, there wasn’t any action he could take aside from thinking. More than anything, Matthieu realized that sleeping on it might be the hardest thing he’d have done in a while.


	11. Wake Up Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aah this chapter is so late, I'm sorry! In short, something came up and it's been a bit harder to write this past week (that, and the curse of writer's block), but I can finally say this chapter is done! Thanks again to my wonderful Discord family, and this was a fun chapter. TW for death, but that's also sort of the whole book... anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I'm going to do my best to get you the next ones soon!

The night passed with little additional changes. Ludwig lay awake for the majority of the evening, starting at either Tino or thinking about what could’ve been. If only he could have another chance to do it again, to be with the young Italian, things might have been different - who knows if Ludwig would have gotten caught up in this same killing game. He imagined a little reception, with only Gilbert and Lovino, and possibly a couple of their other friends who had agreed to come along. Of course, the large nature of this gathering was due to the extroverted nature of his brother. Feliciano liked being surrounded by his friends as well, so something told Ludwig he hadn’t been that hard to convince on the whole arrangement of it. The German shook his head, rolling over to face the wall - he couldn’t think like this. That was his brother’s husband in his mind, and even if maybe they’d had something one time, he couldn’t let the past loom over him everyday. It would only make the situation worse.

In Feliciano’s room, he breathed slowly Gilbert’s arms wrapped around his tiny body. He could feel the Prussian pull him in a little closer, his body heat warming Feliciano enough that he’d cast the covers aside. Getting sleep, although he knew it was necessary, was getting harder and harder to do. The insanity that crept over him in waves after and before each death changed the way he functioned in the day, and trying to make himself seem like the cheerful, naive man everyone knew him as. It kept the main suspicion away, which was the main worry his mind maintained through all of this. Still, watching Lovino’s body crumple to the floor was fresh in his mind. Feliciano’s face twitched as he thought about it, his expression contorted. The bed was up-lit with the moonlight streaming through the window, which most of the rooms had. He didn’t know what he’d do if anyone found out what he was doing, since while the insanity made him stronger, Feliciano was still rather weak in comparison to the others. He sighed, putting his arms up to his chin to hold Gilbert’s arm. He pushed away the pajama fabric a little so he could feel his lover’s soft skin on the palms of his hands.

Even with so much stress in the world, it did make the Italian feel mildly better to be in the arms of his lover. Although the part of him wished he could tell Gilbert everything and have him by his side, Feliciano knew he’d have to wait for this: when he was done, when Lovino was avenged and his thirst quenched, he wanted to keep Gilbert by his side as a king, and together they could rule over the ruins. He sighed, his chest deflating as the breath escaped his lips. Gilbert’s face was pale, his expressions blissful in a way Feliciano found himself wishing that he, too, could be. However, he didn’t see how the man could appear so very calm in a time like this - for all Gilbert knew, he could be the next victim to be picked off in his sleep. Feliciano contemplated getting up and trying to take someone else out, but as he shifted in the bed Gilbert pulled him closer to his body. Feliciano rolled his eyes and nestled back into his lover’s grasp. He couldn’t go anywhere, but it was okay - there was undoubtedly a certain euphoria in staying where he was, and Feliciano wasn’t complaining.

The night faded into morning, and upon hearing other people beginning to head downstairs and leave their rooms together, Feliciano rolled over and playfully stroked Gilbert’s cheek. The Prussian moaned softly at being awoken like this, and moved one of his larger hands up to place overtop of Feliciano’s. The Italian smiled down at him, his eyes weary but his spirit eager to start the day. He pushed aside the light blue covers that barely covered either of them, and shared a warm kiss with the Prussian. “Good morning, mio amore!”

“Mein liebling,” Gilbert murmured, leaning in for another kiss. He cupped the sides of Feliciano’s face in his rough palms, studying the glassy amber look of his eyes. With two fingers, he traced lightly around Feliciano’s face, feeling each gentle feature defined easily under his touch - the man was as cute as the day he’d first laid eyes upon him. “Did you sleep well?”

Feliciano gave a light laugh, his mind drifting in and out of the moment - he truly was lucky to have this man by his side, to someday be his king. There was nothing he wanted more than to be happy with someone, and had it not been for the peculiar desire that had eaten away at him, he could have had it all - the way they did in the beginning. Now, the definition of “all” had shifted and mainly would be defined by the point in which he had all the power and still Gilbert by his side. Exactly what had changed from the beginning, he didn’t know - only the before all this had happened, he’d been a much different person, even if outside he appeared the save to everyone. “Yes, I did!” Feliciano chirped, bopping Gilbert on the nose.

The Prussian let his head sink back into the pillow, the silky fabric they’d picked out relatively comfortable. Feliciano had done his best to acquire nice furniture, and that included going to the lengths to make the pillows actually comfortable. Since sleeping had been one of his pastimes, Feliciano found it important that he acquire a decent space for sleeping for everyone. Even in the little game he was playing at the moment, sleep still held an important role to him. “I’m tired,” Gilbert moaned again, leaning this time so his face was buried into the pillow. 

“You can go back to sleep,” Feliciano rubbed his back gently, “If you’re really that tired, there’s nothing wrong with sleeping, you know? Lovino and I like to sleep a lot and-“

Gilbert yawned, stretching his arms up over his face. He blinked, trying to clear his muddled head from the sleepy nature it held. The sunlight coming through the window was already a bit of a shock to his weary eyes. “I can’t! Somehow you’re awake before me for once, and well, I’m impressed. No one is up before the awesome Gilbert, you know? It’s a bit of a shock - especially given how early it is.”

Feliciano looked up at the wall clock, trying to figure out what he could about the time. “It’s not too early, almost 9 in the morning, ve~ so after this, we have breakfast! I’m really hungry, I didn’t eat as much as I would have wanted last night and I can’t wait to have breakfast! I’m so very hungry!”

So turned another day. He’d only been playing this little game of his for two days, and yet he’d managed quite well, the hours hardly passing by like he’d have thought they would. There wasn’t too much more now, although one of the hardest people to work through would be Ludwig. He was particularly strong, and Feliciano knew that he’d probably survive getting shot or knifed, it was just the way he was. Not only that, but he’d be able to get a hit on the Italian, which would essentially peg him for everyone else. Any injuries would do that really - he’d already had to dispose of the jacket he’d worn the previous night. So far no one had found the bodies, and as far as they all were concerned, Alfred was still being held hostage. Feliciano breathed a sigh of relief thinking about this, and rolled on top of Gilbert, holding his husband from behind as he heard the Prussian laugh. He’d be ready for the morning soon, and Feliciano felt his stomach rumble.

He inhaled softly to the scent of Gilbert’s hair, the smell of sweet strawberries. He’d bought the conditioner for his husband before they’d headed off to the manor for the first time, since he’d liked the scent of it and Gilbert had asked if he’d be willing to do the shopping. The back of the house had strawberry bushes too, which Gilbert hadn’t known about but Feliciano had set up so he’d be able to harvest them. Of course, they weren’t as good as other things he liked to eat too, but it was nice to have a little bit of comfort food during the day. He kept them put away in the back of the fridge, and thankfully thus far no one had found nor eaten them. Feliciano smiled at the gentle smell of strawberries, kissing the soft head of white hair with tentative lips. “I guess it’s not too early then,” Gilbert laughed, pulling his lover closer to him, “You’re cute this morning, did you know that? I don’t know how you got so cute, Feli, but you’ll always have my heart. You’re my king, you’re perfect to me.”

Feliciano laughing, running his fingers through Gilbert’s soft hair. They’d known each other for a long time, and Feliciano never regretted having fallen so hard in love for this wonderful, handsome man. It would work out in the end, he told himself - there was no reason he wouldn’t be able to stand by Gilbert’s side. “You’re perfect to me too, Gilbert! I love you so much, mio amore - I can’t imagine a world without you. I would be a sad world, that’s all I know,” he kissed Gilbert’s nose, flipping back over to his own side of the bed to get out of it and get dressed , “You are the most awesome Prussian I know, ve~”

Gilbert smiled at this notion, especially since it bore such a similarity as to how he liked to refer to himself - awesome and confident, which was exactly how Feliciano saw him. Feliciano headed over to their dresser and flipped through clothes, settling easily upon a t-shirt and a pair of slacks, like he used to wear back in the old times. Standing in the corner of the room, his back facing his husband, Feliciano began to change out of his pajamas. The fabric of his shirt of the day was soft and comfortable, and although Gilbert had initially picked it out as something he could use while sleeping, Feliciano had little to no regard between his sleeping clothes and everyday ones. This was partially due to the fact that the content of each day included a substantial amount of sleeping, and thus it made sense for him to wear anything that wouldn’t be accepting of the sleep he did so frequently. After this, Feliciano headed to the bathroom and took the light navy jacket he had hanging on the door, slipping it on over his arms. He strode out of the bathroom, posing for Gilbert, “How is this? Ve~ I think it’s good!”

“Of course, you look fine, libeling,” Gilbert smoothed down his hair as he got up, arms stretched out mid-yawn, “I keep forgetting I don’t have Gilbird anymore - it’s weird not having him sitting on my shoulder or head or flying around the rafters like he used to… it’s kind of lonely. You look so handsome, reminds me of the old days. Now I’ve got to get dressed - I’m going to wear my old jacket too, then we can match. Then do you want to make milkshakes for breakfast? Mine are the very best!”

Feliciano did enjoy Gilbert’s cooking every once in a while, and the Prussian had made substantial efforts over the past couple years while he and Feliciano dated to try and learn how to cook some of the Italian classics perfectly. If anything, it would be a nice throwback when they were older, and he’d be able to make dinner every once in a while - something that both of them had agreed was important, even though Feliciano loved cooking and did it most of the time. He headed for the door, his hand already secured around the knob, “Ooh milkshakes! Yours are the best, I’d be happy with them any time of day!”

“Wait before going,” Gilbert’s voice stopped the Italian in his tracks, “We go together. I don’t want anyone to hurt you while we’re there. It’s already bad enough that how many? Seven? Have died, and Alfred’s still hostage somewhere, and none of us can leave. It’s not awesome at all - and it would be even less so if something happened to you. Stay with me and we’ll head down together. I’ll protect you, liebchen. No one will hurt you while I’m around.”

Feliciano nodded slowly, and took a step back from the door. He’d wanted to go, already trying to think of how he’d be able to take on Ludwig. Maybe Gilbert would know something, after all, he’d known Ludwig for longer than anyone else, and it’d be important for Feliciano to know as much as he could about his opponent. The only question was how he should lead into the subject, so not to draw suspicion. It also meant that Feliciano would have to wait an amount of time before he could carry out the plan, otherwise it would be too suspect. “Back when I worked with Ludwig… and up to now… has anything changed with him? It’s just that I hardly see him anymore-“ 

Gilbert laughed softly, “Yeah, he’s about the same - good old Ludwig, you know? Not quite as awesome as his older brother, but hey, who is? Except for you, Feli, you’re more awesome. Okay, anyway all you missed was the giant crush he used to have on you, even when he proposed, except that was due to a faulty book. I don’t know if he ever got over himself though - he did seem a little sad at the reception. I do feel a little bad for him, but I just don’t quite know, if that makes sense. I want to be sure, but I haven’t found it to talk to him just yet, especially with all this going on. I don’t think he’d hold a grudge - shit, I’m off topic, aren’t I? No, he’s the same stern German you’ve always known, hard to make lighten up. Maybe he’ll ease off sometime,” the albino’s pale fingers tightened around the tie, and he did it up so it wound it’s way neatly around the shirt collar, “Anyway, now I’m ready! Let’s go make milkshakes!”

The main hallway was already filled with people discussing things, everything abuzz with the excitement that came naturally from the general stress of the situation. Matthieu had already left his room, and he clapped loudly twice to garner attention, “Listen up! Before we go downstairs… has anyone seen Lovino or Ivan? I know we had a room set out for them but I poked in and didn’t see them.”

The Canadian half expected to be completely ignored, like usual, but heads turned to look at him. It was nice, being remembered and a center part of everything - even if so often he was neglected and cast to the side like another useless person. Lin pushed past Nguyen, eager to speak up. “No, I haven’t. And besides, weren’t we missing Lovino at dinner too? I remember we couldn’t find him so we ate, but he’s not here… I think we should try to find him.”

There was a silence in the corridor which took over the quiet chatter which had been there before, like collectively everyone was trying to decide what exactly was the best option. “How would we start looking, Lin?” Nguyen rolled her eyes, wrapping a protective arm around the young woman, “We’d have to be together, have to be careful so no one got lost or picked off along the way. Besides, we don’t even know the potential places.”

“Then shouldn’t we start looking? If we don’t know where they are, they’re not necessarily dead - they’re just out of our sight, but if we find them and they’re not dead, we can help them. The sooner the better, you know? If we wait, who knows what’ll happen?” Lin tugged gently on Nguyen’s sleeve, trying to convince her. After all, it had been her that was locked away like that, she'd wanted someone to come to try and find her regardless of whether there was an out.

Arthur stepped in, looking particularly grumpy. “Whatever we do, let’s make a decision. Either eat or search, but our time’s wasting on whatever we choose. Someone say something, make a decision, and then we’ll do it.”

“We’re searching then,” Matthias interrupted, his arm wrapped around Lukas’ shoulders, “Even if no one has direct ties with Lovino or Ivan - aside from Feliciano and Lovino - if Norge was here and I wasn’t, I’d want someone to look after him. Especially if he went and disappeared, even if I was dead I’d want someone to look after him. If that’s the case with everyone missing at the moment, it’s still our duty to look for them.”

“What about Alfred?” Arthur asked, moving back to stand beside Matthieu, “I mean, they’ve said it’s going to go badly if we try and find him. I don’t want more of us to get sucked into hostage or anything. I- Francis is gone, if Alfred gets killed I don’t know what I’ll do.”

The Canadian nudged Arthur, trying to garner his attention for a moment, “You’ll still have me, right? I’m not gone, or hostage, and we can stick together - you’ll have me.”

“You?” Arthur gave Matthieu a strange look, taking a step away from him, “Not to put this unkindly, but you aren’t… the same as they were. They were closer, Francis and I had something… special perhaps? I don’t know, but it was different from everyone else. And Alfred was my son for so long, even when he left me, he still meant more, I guess. Don’t take it hard, it’s just my own problem, I guess. Nothing you need to deal with,” the Brit rolled his eyes, keeping his distance from the now crest-fallen Canadian. It didn’t make sense to Matthieu when he’d been there the entire time and grew up by Alfred’s side, but if Arthur wasn’t going to acknowledge him like he always did, always forgetting, he’d let it go. The Brit was going through enough as was, and there wasn’t necessarily a great reason to push him further than he had to.

“Alright, let’s go. Should we go as a group, or split off into two and cover more ground faster?” Matthieu asked, now addressing everyone who had formed up. He tried to ignore the overbearing sadness he could feel in his heart - truly, no one would care if he died. Kiku perhaps, since he’d asked to be roommates and was always kind enough to remember that the Canadian existed, but 

“Two groups,” Gilbert popped in, his hand wound around Feliciano’s, “We’ll cover more territory that way, and we’ll be able to recover them faster. Feliciano, you can go with Ludwig, and I’ll take Mathieu, Lin and Nguyen can go with you, Feli, and I’ll take Matthias, Arthur, and Lukas. Tino, you go with Feliciano, and Peter and Raivis can go play a game or something while we handle this. Go ahead guys,” he nudged the children in the direction of their room, “Do what you will, have fun,” he bent to whisper in their ears, “You’re all set, no one’s watching. Go crazy. Have fun.”

Eagerly, Peter ran off in the direction of their room, ready for whatever they might do. He wasn’t certain, whether it be a game or just cuddles with the boy he loved, but either way he looked forward to it. Tino laughed slightly at the eagerness of his son, but quickly became sullen again as he found himself yearning for Berwald standing by his side, holding his hand. For a fleeting moment, he wished he could again be with his love, just to have the moments he’d taken for granted. Tino swallowed the growing lump in his throat, murmuring softly to himself. “Don’t worry Ber. I said I’d get him out, and I’m going to. If it’s the last thing I do, it’ll be keeping them safe, like you would have wanted. Who knows?” he gave a weak smile, looking up from the floor for a moment, “Maybe I’ll join you soon, my love.”

The groups split off, Feliciano’s headed for the bottom floor and Gilbert’s for the top. As Feliciano walked alongside Ludwig like he used to, another reminder of old times which felt strange to feel but in a good way, he reached over and held the German’s hand. He studied the other man’s face as his cheeks grew pinker, looking away from Feliciano in embarrassment - yes, it was confirmed, there was still some kind of feeling within Ludwig. Feliciano thought over this for a moment - Ludwig wasn’t going to try to hurt him, not right away anyway… Feliciano would just have to make sure he was distracted by something, and then he’d be able to kill him. It shouldn’t be that hard, he figured… He’d just need to determine the most effective distraction and carry it out. It might be difficult, since getting him to a place where Ludwig couldn’t hurt him but could still be vulnerable would take time and goodness knows what Feliciano would do if anyone caught him. Especially Gilbert. That would be the most difficult part - that was, it would have been if Feliciano still cared. He pulled Ludwig closer to him, clinging on to his arm. The German flinched and looked away again, although he made no such move to push Feliciano off of his arm - for the sole reason he didn’t want to. Even though in his heart he knew it was wrong, it felt almost nice to have Feliciano relying on him like he had before so many times before. 

“We’ll check through each room as a group, everyone sticks together,” Ludwig started off, bringing them to the furthest room, the pillow room, “No one wanders off, I must make sure you’re all here so no one gets hurt or killed or anything. This is a tight situation, so stay close.”

Feliciano wandered beside Ludwig, feeling the rise and fall of the German’s chest - he could go through with everything that evening if it was properly planned, that much was apparent to him. For now, the desire for power only grew and grew, overwhelming him. They scanned around the room, but there was nothing that looked either like a door or a body, so they moved down to the next room which contained the pool everyone was permitted to use. Feliciano pulled away for a moment, running over to the door, “I’m going to get something from my room, okay Luddy?”

“You… you can’t go alone!” The German exclaimed, his accent gruff and punctuating, “It’s dangerous, what if you die? No, I will come with you, it’s too dangerous for you to go alone.”

Feliciano shook his head, skipping out of the room, his voice carrying through back into the pool room. “No problems at all, nothing bad is going to happen. You don’t have to come, I just have to grab this thing quickly and I’ll be back. Okay? Don’t worry too much about it, I’m very careful, okay Ger?”

Ludwig frowned at the sight. He’d hoped to keep everyone in his team together, but he also knew it wasn’t right to just leave everyone else. Lin headed for the door as well, and Ludwig made motions to stop her. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll follow him and make sure he’s safe, okay?” she laughed, turning back for a second, “I don’t want something to happen to him either, so I’ll watch and make sure it doesn’t.”

The party stared in silent awe for a second while the Taiwanese girl left the room. After she was gone, Nguyen yelled up after her, “Be careful, okay? Everyone’s lost their loves, don’t let me lose you!”

Lin barely heard her voice as she left the room, trying to follow after the Italian. If she could be sneaky, she could keep him in her sights the entire time without him suspecting a thing. It wouldn’t be too difficult, she was a clever young woman and was successful in most things she attempted. Feliciano scampered up the stairs, his hand on the railing to pull him up. Following, Lin made sure to keep her feet as light as possible so he wouldn’t hear her. The reason for this was he might have believed that Ludwig sent him, and would get a little frustrated with the German’s belief that he couldn’t fend for himself if need be. Of course, back when Ludwig and Feliciano spent more time together, the dynamic had focused upon Feliciano being relatively unable to do much for himself, so it stood to reason that Ludwig would still hold this in his mind when thinking about the Italian. Even though things had changed, and Feliciano was able to do much more for himself.

Feliciano turned to look behind him, hearing the sound of soft breathing, but Lin slipped into one of the open bedroom doorways and Feliciano didn’t see her. Still, he had the feeling someone was behind him, which made him a little bit uneasy. If anything, he was the one supposed to be tracking down and chasing everyone else. He thought for a moment, glancing behind himself again - how much would he be able to know and determine who this was. Rather than going to his room, he made his way into the large communal bathroom, closing the door behind himself. He stood behind one of the pillars in the center of the room, waiting before he heard the door open and close again - chances were whomever it was still followed him. Feliciano made his way back to the front and looked behind each pillar, searching and scanning for whomever had been stalking him. He patted his pocket, feeling the bulge of the metal cord he kept, the wooden handles more prevalent than ever. Running his hand along the stalls, he settled upon one from which he could hear breathing from behind. Like he’d expected, it wasn’t locked, and Feliciano thrust the door open.

“Feliciano!” Lin exclaimed, “I- I didn’t expect you’d see me! I just wanted to make sure you’d be alright and not get hurt or something, especially with everything going on.”

The Italian thrust a hand into his pocket, pulling out the garrote and taking the handles in each of his hands. “Ve~ Thank you! I was going to be okay - no one’s going to hurt me.”

Lin watched his hands with wide eyes, noting the unfazed look in his eyes, his face twitching. Something was horribly, awfully wrong, and Lin didn’t like it at all. She tried to edge past Feliciano and leave the stall, but with a quick move he locked it, both of them trapped inside. His body blocked the lock, and instead Lin eased into the back to try and avoid whatever was happening. “F-Feli? What are you doing with that cord?”

He laughed, jerking it quickly around her neck. “Nothing much!”

Lin heaved, gasping for air, however unsuccessfully. Her hands reached up to her neck, trying to get under the cord, but it was already too late. Feliciano pulled with as much strength as he could muster, still having to hold up Lin’s body as she sunk further and further to the ground, her knees and vision weak. With a final gasp, a foul stench filled the air, some of the chunky liquid dripping down Lin’s leg out of the bottom of her dress, the back of it completely soiled. Feliciano frowned at this, taking his garrote from around her neck. Lin’s eyes sunk in lifelessly, her body contorted and shoved between the toilet and the wall, everything closing in around her. The floor was covered in the content from the sphincter release, everything non-moving and lifeless. Around her neck was a thick red line which looked incredibly painful, in some places even having blood dribble down her neck. Feliciano put the cord back into his pocket, pinching his nose as he left the stalls. “Ten down, nine to go ve~”

In the upper rooms with Gilbert, he brought the team down from examining the attic. Now, they just had to check in on the red room itself, to try and see if any more death happened there. No one could exactly trust anyone anymore, but it was a little bit comforting to have everyone together the way they were. Gilbert held his breath as he thrust open the door, already preparing himself for the scent of corpses which would undoubtedly become incredibly abrasive to his senses. Sure enough, something seemed a little different this time. Rather than seeing just the three bodies, there was now another one. “Lovino?” Gilbert asked, studying the face, “You’re dead. Does anyone know how long he’s been missing for?”

“Better part of a day?” Matthieu chimed in, looking at the four bodies lying on the floor. A part of this just seemed like a surreal dream, which was perhaps the most frightening part of it all - people kept dying, no one knew how, and no one could leave the house due to their own humility and hope that someone else might be able to live if they remained. Each passing day was filled with more dangers, and Matthieu already found himself missing Kiku more than anything. He imagined this as being how others felt, like Tino with Berwald or even the way Ivan had felt when Alfred went missing. Speaking of which, they still hadn’t found the Russian - but perhaps he’d turn up sooner than later, Matthieu didn’t know. Maybe the other group had already found him. 

Gilbert shook his head, stepping away from the other Italian. “The only thing I worry about is how I’m going to break this to Feliciano. He loved Lovino, it’s going to hurt awful to know his own brother is dead. Poor man - he doesn’t deserve this.”

“None of us do,” Matthieu replied, “None of us do.”


	12. What A Fool Believes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh I'm a bad updater, sorry! Yes, this one is late, but it's extra long so yes. This past week(s) has sort of been terrible, but things should be getting better now and I promise you I did not abandon this story! Okay, so welcome back to trigger warnings: the main feature here is non-con sex, or rape. If you don't think you're ready to read it, don't. There is also some fluff and other stuff, but mostly angst and rape. Once again, and big thanks to my Discord family for helping me figure all this out, and I hope you enjoy the (12th? wow!) chapter of Red Room!

Feliciano heard footsteps in the hallway in front of them, behind the corner. He clung to Ludwig’s arm, his nails digging white marks into his flesh although not breaking the skin. It’d work out, Feliciano knew he’d be able to rig everything according to plan - if he played it right, that was. Their group hadn’t had any success, the entire bottom floor leaving them with nothing in their midst, No bodies, no clues which could tell anyone more about the identification of the killer. The other group - well, Feliciano knew they’d probably found something, but how much he wasn’t entirely certain. He said a silent prayer to above that someone hadn’t poked their way into his backroom, with the bodies of Ivan and Alfred lying on the floor; one a pile of ashes and the other one shreds of skin bleeding out. He shuddered thinking about it, but quickly reverted back to his timid looking position on Ludwig’s body. There was something somewhat comforting (as well as intimidating) about the large German man, but there was nothing Feliciano couldn’t do about that.

“Luddy!” Gilbert called out, flagging his brother’s attention, “Have you found anything?”

As expected, the blond shook his head with a frown. “No, we looked around to the best we could, but nothing. It’s normal, same as when we got here. No secret passages, no hints towards who might be the killer, no weapons, no signs of bodies, no nothing. What did you find?”

Gilbert paused a moment, looking from his brother to his husband. He’d have to tell Feliciano, but he wanted to do it just the two of them, especially since he knew that the Italian would need some form of comfort to learn about the loss. Feliciano looked up, and with eagerness in his gaze met Gilbert’s expression, just waiting for him to say something. “I did find something, but I think it’s better I talk to Feli about it first, just the two of us - if that’s alright. I’ll tell everyone else too, but I think it’s something Feli deserves to hear.”

It took a bit of effort for the German to force Feliciano off of him, even though he didn’t mind at all feeling the warmth against his body. Sure, it wasn’t something he should enjoy - especially since that was his brother’s husband - but he hadn’t initiated it and times were hard on both of them. If clinging to him like a small creature made Feliciano feel any better about how it all was going, then Ludwig would support it, since at the moment he didn’t want to make anything worse concerning whatever his brother intended to mention. Gilbert slipped his hand around the Italian’s, and with an eerie silence in the corridor of 10 people, he brought him slowly into their bedroom. With a single thrust he slammed the door shut behind them, making his way over to the bed and sitting beside his lover on it. “Ve~ Gil, what is it you wanted to tell me? Could we have told everyone, at the same time? It’s much faster that way and-“

“I don’t think so,” Gilbert stared down at the floor, running his hand over Feliciano’s knuckles, “You see, one of the bodies we found belongs to… Lovino,” he heard a quiet gasp come from Feliciano, who glanced quickly up at the Albino’s pale face for true confirmation or denial, “I’m sorry, Feli. I thought you should be one of the first to know, given how much he meant to you.”

With a little bit of effort, Feliciano forced a tear to roll down his cheek as he leaned into Gilbert’s embrace, making soft sobbing sounds. Most of them were faked, although for the first time in a while he could feel regret building up in his chest - not just for killing Lovino, but for the rest of the guests who would now never see the light of day again, who would never laugh again - but then the dull hunger filled him again, pushing out any of the feelings of forlorn he already knew existed. Feliciano smiled, something Gilbert wouldn’t see as his expression was buried in the navy-blue jacket fabric. None of this was something Gilbert would know - and Feliciano was alright with that. He stopped smiling and sat up, once again wearing the expression of pure dismay. “I- I think I’d like to be alone for a bit.”

“You can’t be alone. This place is filled to the brim with someone murdering all of us one by one, and I won’t have you alone. Maybe not me, and I respect that, but is there someone else you’d like to come and sit in here with you?”

Feliciano thought for a moment. “I’ll go back out to the hallway, you can tell them what you told me, and then I’ll stay with the rest of you. But if I go away for a bit, all I’m doing is talking to someone or something, okay? Don’t worry, it’ll be okay,” he choked back a fake sob, “Maybe I’ll do that? I don’t know… I’ll stay with everyone for now.”

The biggest part was avoiding suspicion, Feliciano knew, and by going with everyone he’d draw away any of the suspicion he would have gotten doing what he was about to. “Alright,” Gilbert patted Feliciano’s shoulder, and turned to face the group, “I have some news. The body my group found… belonged to Lovino. After we find some way to pay respects to everyone we’ve lost, then we can have a celebration - or, celebration after we get out of here. If anyone has any ideas, you can tell us and we’ll see what we can do about it.”

“I’ve tried thinking through it,” Nguyen stepped forward, “I wanted to find something, especially in the case that I lost my love, but… I can’t think of anything that we can do inside here. Maybe light candles for each of them and leave notes at the base, but there are already so few of us left that the number of candles would be pretty great-“ her voice trailed off, “I don’t know, if I had some help I’ll bet I could set all of this up and make it work. Is Lin somewhere-“

Ludwig paused, “We brought her with us, but then she left for… something,” he took a quick survey of Feliciano, who had returned to his side, “But she didn’t come back. Now that I think about it, she should’ve been back by now. It’s been a while - almost an hour now, since she left near the beginning.”

Nguyen’s face fell, but she tried to keep as steady an expression as she could. When people had gone missing before, typically they had not returned. And thus far, although she’d thought through one hell of a lot with her analytical mind, there didn’t seem to be any sort of pattern surrounding the happenings. People died, and it wasn’t in any kind or order that she could see, just - random. Almost everyone had lost someone so far - well, except for Lukas, but for the most part relationships and families had been torn apart. It was all the Vietnamese woman could do to pray the same thing hadn’t happened to her, losing the one she loved more in the entire world would hurt - especially remembering what she’d done the night everyone got intoxicated. Nguyen didn’t know if Lin actually remembered any of the events of that night, but she didn’t want Lin to die hating her, when all she’d ever had in her heart for the Taiwanese girl was love. Nguyen bit her lip, the tingling sensation she’d felt before rushing over her like a wave, and she took a breath in to try and calm herself a little bit. Later she hoped to go and check things out, but for now it would be safest to stay with the group. Her heart raced, Lin flashing through her thoughts aimlessly, like a pebble skipping across a constant flow. 

“We can look for her later, right?” she asked anxiously, her light brown eyes darting from person to person. While she still appeared composed to most, Nguyen was truly anything but that as she tried to stifle her anxieties.

Gilbert nodded. “Certainly. We’ve had no luck on Ivan or Alfred just yet - even though I know we aren’t supposed to look for Alfred, but if we found him by chance, that’d be awesome! Anyway, the point is, we’re going to have to go back out later for some people, even if we haven’t got everyone just yet. No one…” he glanced over at Feliciano, who had his teary eyes buried in Ludwig’s forearm, “No one leave without someone else with you.”

The tough German looked down to his arm, reaching the other hand across his body to pat Feliciano on the back, still feeling him shaking against his body. The green fabric of his jacket was already covered in two little damp spots. Ludwig shook his head, neglecting them; they weren’t as important as the man he’d once loved, and even if he wasn’t entirely sure how to comfort Feliciano, he could at least stand by him physically. Gilbert shook his head as the party headed off back down the stairs, ready to have breakfast - although undoubtedly portions would be smaller, no one wanted to have food that was accidentally poisoned - on the other hand, the house did already come stocked with more than enough food for a while, so they likely wouldn’t run out anytime soon. It had been one of Feliciano’s many forethoughts, and so the cellar was quite extensively packed with all varieties of food from around the world - he’d wanted to appease his guests, and that had seemed like the best way to do it. Someone had to go down that morning to gather more bread, but nothing too major - bread just happened to be relatively well liked, meaning the supply of it was gone much faster than a lot of the other foods which had been brought. There was even some vodka which had been given to everyone by Ivan as part of his gift to the newlyweds, although no one aside from Raivis was especially fond of it.

Gilbert glanced over at Feliciano from across the room, the Italian still clinging to his brother. He sauntered over, addressing them with the softest voice he could manage, “Ludwig, would you help Feli back to our room? I know he hasn’t had too much to eat, but lying down might do him some good.”

Feliciano let go of Ludwig’s arm for a moment to grab a slice of toast off the table before heading back, once again returning to the other’s side. He took a tiny bite of it, his stomach rumbling. He’d eaten just last night, but his lifestyle always had given him ample chances to eat and the way things were now had limited that more than a little bit. If anything, that was what bothered Feliciano most. The thought for a moment, remembering the loss of Lovino, and again he did feel a slightest bit of sadness remembering it was his fault. It didn’t exactly seem like he was gone, either, the only thing notable being the quietness of the breakfast room without Lovino yelling at everyone within a five meter radius. “Come on, Feliciano, I’m going to take you upstairs.”

“Awww but I want to stay here!” Feliciano whined, tugging down on Ludwig’s arm, until it hit him that maybe this was the escape he’d needed, “Actually, we can go!”

Ludwig began to try to pick the Italian up, but was quickly pushed away, only mildly harder than Feliciano had intended. “I can carry you-“

“Ve~ you don’t have to, it’s okay, I can walk,” Feliciano started, winding his hand into the calloused one of the German instead.

He nodded. “A-alright. Walk then, we’ll go.”

Although it seemed like a scene that would have caused some form of commotion - at least to Feliciano - no one seemed to have noticed as the German and the Italian left the room, only Gilbert staring wistfully off after his husband and brother. Feliciano for his part kept up the acting, continually sniffing and wiping at his nose to act sorrowful. Ludwig didn’t push it, he didn’t want to make anything worse for the younger man than it already was. They headed through the hallway, the sweet scent of breakfast drifting up from the bottom of the stairs. Sunlight made its way through some of the cracks in the doorway, dancing in patterns across the wood floor. Everything smelled a little strange, like the scent of rotting flesh, but in general it tended to be faint and didn’t bother Ludwig nor Feliciano too much. With a gentle tug to his hand, Ludwig brought Feliciano closer to his own room - it would be good to see him into bed, then head back downstairs to finish having breakfast. If this had been for anyone else, he would have been more annoyed about missing the greater part of a meal, but it was no problem to be doing it for Feli.

Instead of heading over to the covers and getting into bed, Feliciano took a seat on the edge of the bottom of the bed. He patted the spot next to him, motioning for the German to join him. Ludwig sat down, and casually but calmly, Feliciano headed over and locked the door. All of this seemed a little strange to Ludwig - but then again, maybe it made Feliciano feel safer to have the door locked with the killer somewhere out there. The lighting was already dim and rather hard to see, and closing the door had only taken more of that from the room; Feliciano made no move to flick the light switch and change anything with their present situation. “Feli… don’t you think it’s best you sleep now?” Ludwig asked as Feliciano sat down beside him, staring down at the floor.

“Ve~” Feliciano started, before standing up again and trudging over to the corner of the room, closest to the window. Without responding to anything, he pressed his forehead between the two cold walls. He brought his two hands together, clasped in a praying shape just under his chin, and in the softest tone he could muster under his breath, he murmured, “Father, son, holy spirit, forgive me. I am about to sin.”

Ludwig shifted over on the bed to watch his friend return to his side. “Feliciano?”

“Ludwig- ve-,” the Italian pandered for a moment, before taking control of the situation and leaning up into a kiss which caught the German by surprise. He pressed his body weight against the other man, trying to get him to fall backwards into the bed, “Lie down, will you?”

In blatant surprise, Ludwig fell back onto the bed, staring in shock at the man above him. Feliciano pressed into him, grinding on his hip as he pulled the German in for another kiss, his breath already hot against the other’s skin. Ludwig gasped. None of this felt right - well, none of it was right. He’d imagined it before, too, just him and Feliciano, doing this together - but now it wasn’t just Feliciano, he was married to his brother. Feliciano worked his way off Ludwig’s lips, closer and closer down to his neck’s sweet spot. It would be so easy to succumb to the fantasies that now played out in front of him, but he couldn’t. Ludwig made a move to shove the Italian off, but he refused, clinging on tighter than ever as he sucked a slight abrasion into Ludwig’s neck, feeling the man’s heartbeat speed up beneath him. “Feli- you’re married. You’re married to my brother. We can’t do this.”

Feliciano lifted his head slightly, in between kisses, “Maybe I’ve just wanted you, all this time, ve~? But, you were always so busy, and we never were able to be together. But, this room is soundproof, and we can do all we like - I even locked the door, you know, so no one can come in and interrupt this. Don’t you want it?”

It took the German a second to think of an appropriate response, but he already knew that although he was torn between being like this with Feliciano and not doing it, he had to choose the latter. It would reflect his own honor poorly to lie with his brother’s husband as well, and if nothing else, he had to preserve his own honor. Even if that meant ignoring how he was feeling, the tingling and rush of heat that enveloped his body, he’d do it. “N-no, Feli, I don’t want it. Maybe once, long ago, I did, but… things have changed.”

“Ludwig,” Feliciano shook his head, “I didn’t want to do this yet, but-“ he swung a fist, landing a solid punch on Ludwig’s jaw. 

The German’s strong body sunk down into the bed, his eyes closing so he looked almost like he was asleep. Feliciano breathed a sigh of relief - although he knew he had maybe ten minutes, at best. He planted another rough kiss on the Blond’s cheek, the worry and regret evanescing again. All he wanted was power, strength, and he was aware it wouldn’t be easy to take out the stronger German - he’d have to weaken him a little bit more first. With slick hands, he untucked the base of the black tank top underneath the green jacket and pulled it free, working the fabric up Ludwig’s pale, smooth chest. There were a few scars, nothing Feliciano didn’t already know, but it was different to have the hot skin pressed against his own, breathing changing to be progressively more ragged. Although the muscles were incredibly visible under the taut fabric without moving it, it made more sense to take it off before doing anything else. Even if he wasn’t conscious, Feliciano kissed and bit, working his way up the body. Truth to be told, he hadn’t wanted this way back in the day - but there was a certain need for something, perhaps sex, as he hadn’t gotten any in a while as he killed in the day and lie awake in the night.

With a daunting tongue, he lay his lips on the German’s, the faintly beer-flavored taste becoming ever-apparent to the Italian. He glanced nervously at the clock, trying to see how long he’d have before the other man came to. More than anything else, he wanted to wait for consciousness before penetration - at least that much felt right; both of them could enjoy it a little bit before Ludwig had to die. Feliciano had nearly finished working the shirt over the other man’s head, keeping one hand on his chest to feel the beat of his heart and the rise of his breath. It probably wouldn’t be long until everything Feliciano was doing brought up a physical reaction in Ludwig, which would make it even easier to take care of everything. With the shirt off, he let one hand slip down to Ludwig’s crotch, gently palming for some form of reaction before he made any more moves. All of this would have been strange, had Feliciano been in any form of the proper state of mind - although now, he was anything but that.

Feliciano laughed to himself, undoing the belt around Ludwig’s waist that typically held his pants up, in the common German military fashion he was so proud of. With rough hands, he pulled the slacks down, letting them fall to the other man’s ankles. Everything felt so new and different, and admittedly it gave an additional rush of adrenaline that Feliciano liked, the kind he got while fighting someone or in the process of killing them and waiting for them to fight back. No one had so far, but Feliciano felt himself almost ready to get scraped up a little bit - something which would likely happen with Ludwig if he wasn’t careful. Beneath him, he could feel the German begin to stir, moving slightly. 

He kissed him hard, biting harshly at his neck, “You can sleep a little longer, we aren’t ready to play just yet, ve~”

With a little bit of struggle, Feliciano bit his lip as he slipped his hands under Ludwig’s body, rolling him over so he’d be lying on his stomach - that was easier access anyway, and would take a little less effort than trying to support the man’s legs as he went in. Or, maybe not - he thought for a moment, before flipping him back onto his back. Keeping a watchful eye on Ludwig, Feliciano started to undress himself, casting his clothing into the same pile he’d thrown Ludwig’s. The man was a stickler for having everything in order, but Feliciano didn’t exactly care about neatness in the same way. A pile was perfectly acceptable to him, at the very least.

Leaving his tank top and boxers on, Feliciano headed back over to the bed, pushing his auburn hair out of his face. With semi-gentle hands, he roamed Ludwig’s body, feeling each part of him just of the greater sense while he waited for him to come. It would be in less than a moment, he figured, letting his fingers slip under the waistband on Ludwig’s boxers and remove those, tossing them aimlessly behind him. Keeping the German on his back would be better, he’d both be groggy and able to see everything Feliciano was doing. Not only that, but if everything went according to plan, he’d be much easier to kill like that. 

Feliciano took one hand away, giving that one to himself to run a hand over his own cock. His heart beat faster as he stared at the German beneath him, until something interrupted him - a change in the train of thought. “Feli- what’s going on?”

“Ve~ Luddy! You’re awake now! We can play, yes?” Feliciano smiled, laughing again softly under his breath.

Planting both arms to lay over top of the German, it was easy to see he hadn’t fully come back, still a little bit out of it from being hit in the first place - however, he’d be fine, he was resilient like that - both physically and mentally for the most part. “Feliciano, what are you doing?” he moaned, half-heartedly trying to push the Italian away from him.

“You’re awake now, which means we can play~ I didn’t want to do it without you awake, but if you’re good I’ll let you stay awake for all, okay?” 

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I’ll go in dry, since that’s easiest, alright? It’s gonna to hurt a little bit but you’ll be fine, you know you want this! And even if you don’t - I do sorta need it - so just stay right there and we’ll get this over with nice and quick!”

“F-Feli- you’re married to my brother-“ Ludwig started, but in a second came to the cold realization of what Feliciano was about to do, already feeling the other man’s tip pressing against him, “Feli- no-“

With one hand he managed to grab Feliciano’s wrist, pulling it suddenly to his mouth to bite down, hard. Feliciano bit his tongue to avoid shrieking, feeling spit and blood mix around in the wound. He jerked it away, duly noting the teeth marks that had been made. Steadying himself weakly with that hand, he used the other to punch down into Ludwig’s solar plexus, although it wasn’t quite enough to knock him out. The larger man buckled over, pulling his legs up closer to his chest out of the spread-out position they were in already. With his mind temporarily distracted from Feliciano, the stabbing sensation of the Italian entering him entirely brought him back to reality. “But what I really want - is this. And I’ll be damned if I can’t take it, since everything is already here~”

Ludwig ground his teeth, hands over his bare chest, “F-Feliciano, be gentle!” he bit back a yell, “I-It’s going to bleed if you do that, you have to be- hngh- gentle!”

Feliciano glanced quickly down, noticing the small trickle of red already dribbling from the edges of the hole, stretched out and painfully tight - yet there was an exciting feel to the tightness, although admittedly it hadn’t been something Feliciano had expected to feel - although it made sense, with all the exercise the German did, he was bound to have some variety of tightness. Ludwig jerked back and forth, trying to free himself somehow, but it was clear Feliciano had no intentions to move off him. “But, you’re mine - not something i have to take care of, ve~! Let me get done with this, then I’ll finish you and you won’t have to worry no more!”

“F-Finish me?” Ludwig gaped, Feliciano taking another swing at his chest, just below his ribcage. 

He panted, trying to take hits that would disable the other man enough was the hard part - but soon enough, he’d be able to carry through with the sex. It was better with him alive, anyway, since he’d get to hear the protests. Those only gave him more power, feeding the desire that kept growing and growing inside him, the one that made him take such despicable actions. It was all just water under the bridge, he’d someday get to live in whatever remained with his king, Gilbert. It seemed a little strange to think about his husband while he began slow thrusts in and out of Ludwig, but it didn’t matter as much as it should have. Each time brought him nearer and nearer to a climax, more of it helping his insatiable nature.

Ludwig moaned, the feeling of someone in a place no one had been hurting slightly. He’d imagined it, but never acted, never had reason to find out what it would feel like - but now he knew; it was the pain of his insides splitting apart from the eager pressure and movement. As much as he hated to admit it, there was also something incredibly pleasing about it, like some unwarranted pleasure he hated himself for feeling. This wasn’t his husband, this wasn’t his man to have sex with, even though he’d wanted it like this for so long - was it really worth it? Even now as he struggled, wishing Feliciano would let him get up and leave with so much as a shred of his dignity intact, a part of him almost wanted to stay. If he moved a little bit, maybe he could get out-

With both hands, Feliciano paused in thrusting, and finding a spot just in the middle of Ludwig’s chest - perhaps a little below - he began pressing down, his cock still inside Ludwig. He ran the compressions, bouncing up and down with his hands still centered. “F-Feliciano!” Ludwig cried out, something uncommon for the German, “Y-you’re going to break my ribs!”

There was a slight glint in Feliciano’s eye, one Ludwig hadn’t seen before. “I know that, silly!” Feliciano laughed, “Why else would I be doing it?”

Ludwig heaved, hearing the cracking sound and the feeling of pain rushing through his abdomen. Upon hearing a few more of these loud, somewhat satisfactory cracking noises, Feliciano pulled away, bringing his hands back to his sides. Thus far, he’d left swelling red marks on Ludwig’s chest in his wake. It would only be a matter of time before bruises started forming up - large ones, on his back and sides of the body and chest. Breathing had gotten significantly more difficult with this change as well, and Ludwig shut his eyes tightly, trying to stay silent as he endured. He’d have to pull through - what would happen if he couldn’t? It all seemed unreal, Feliciano was sweet - he wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t force himself on Ludwig, he wouldn’t knock him unconscious, he wouldn’t break his ribs - none of this made sense. “It’s a- nightmare-“ Ludwig groaned out, his arms still wrapped around his chest.

Feliciano pushed his legs up and out of the way again, feeling the German shake beneath him as he prepared for release, “Ve~ don’t you know this is real? I am Feliciano, and every bit of this is completely real - trust me, I know all this! After today, dinner will be good! I think I’m going to be very hungry for it!”

The Italian braced himself, thrusting in a final time to release. His breathing was ragged and hot, his body shaking slightly as he came. Ludwig groaned again, once more having to stifle a noise that would have given Feliciano any more satisfaction or believed him to be weak - which he was, but it wasn’t what he wanted the Italian to realize. Feeling everything coming to an end, he tried to breathe slowly so not to move his ribs around too much. They were fixable, it wasn’t like he hadn’t broken them before. With one arm, he took a swing upwards at Feliciano, hitting him in the nose. With that, the pain and grogginess overcame Ludwig and he sunk back into the bed, unconscious. If nothing else, he’d gone out with a sense of self-loathing and frustration that he hadn’t been able to fight back, and even if he hadn’t consented it was never right to help your brother’s husband cheat on him. He’d failed. He’d tried so long to be perfect, to succeed - but no, when it mattered most, he’d failed.

Feliciano pulled out of him, cum and blood dripping from Ludwig’s hole - if anything, it looked painful, but it didn’t matter to Feliciano. The covers were stained with both substances, meaning that even if he could’ve moved the body it would still be very much visible to anyone else who came in the room. He could go one time more, if he felt like it, but even Feliciano had to admit he’d started to feel tired. He stumbled to the bathroom, there was something he’d have to do before he showered up and cleaned off. Looking in the mirror above the sink as he passed it, Feliciano noticed the healthy glow which had taken a presence in his face, the room filled with the post-sex smell. He inhaled, picking up one of Gilbert’s shaving razors that sat on the edge of the porcelain sink. He blew gently on it, carrying it over to Ludwig’s bedside. He gave the German one more kiss, this one on the lips. He pushed the blond hair back with one hand, letting his tongue explore the other man’s mouth for a final time. The razor sparkled in the small amount of sunlight. Within seconds, he had brought it across Ludwig’s neck, hearing a quiet gasp for air. He thrashed around a little bit before falling back to the limp position, only this time, there wouldn’t be any change in it.

“You were good,” Feliciano watched him bleed out with a slight pout, “Too bad I only could use you once, ve~ it would have been nice to do that more than once. You’re almost better than your brother~!”

He thought for a moment, the sheets covered in blood and cum. He hadn’t yet figured out how to hide this from Gilbert, which perhaps was the most unwise part of his plan. Maybe the best bet would be to play innocent, no one would suspect him. Ludwig certainly didn’t, not even while he was in the process of being raped. Feliciano rinsed the razor off, feeling the smooth and cold rush of water onto his fingers. It was relaxing, and for a moment he forgot the lust he had for power and control - although it quickly returned, reminding him of what he’d done and what he had yet to do. With a quick glance at the body, Feliciano realized he didn’t have to be finished just yet. Biting his lip, he headed back over to Ludwig, ready to go a second round. Perhaps he wasn’t fully dead yet, the breathing still slightly shallow as he pushed the muscled, pale legs out of the way again for access. Feliciano still felt warmth and energy pooling in his loins like before. He hadn’t had sex in a while, and it had been weighing upon him more than he’d realized - in the nights, Gilbert was too tired, so they’d just sleep. But now, he had every chance he’d wanted. Quietly, he watched Ludwig blink - once, twice - before starting in again on the dying man.

* * *

On the bottom floor, Gilbert checked his watch. Not too much time had passed since Feliciano and Ludwig had left for the upstairs, but he’d become a little worried since his brother had planned on coming back down after he was done tucking Feliciano into bed. Over at the table, Matthias and Lukas were sitting and talking - especially since the situation seemed grim. Lukas reached across the table and took Matthias’ hand, without so much as thinking about the gesture he was making. “Are you sure we left Emil alright? I mean, what if we can’t get out of here? Who will take care of him?”

“Gosh, Norge, you worry too much,” Matthias replied, his voice shaky, “He’s 16, he’ll be fine. He probably has Leon over right now, and they’re probably having a nice date night,” he swallowed hard, thinking what he and the Norwegian might have been doing had they not been stuck in the mansion, “Don’t worry about him. Even if you are his big brother, he’s pretty old too!”

It wasn’t easy to say, either, since Emil was nearly a younger brother to Matthias too - although he was really only biologically related to Lukas. Matthias shook his head, accepting Lukas’ hand and tracing the knuckles with his thumb. Although Lukas wouldn’t say too much, he knew the man was already upset about the happenings and his best move would be to try and help him through it or calm him down - even though no one said it would be easy. “I know he’s old enough,” Lukas mused, “It’s just that I can’t stop thinking of him as my little bro, even though he won’t say that’s what he is.”

“Yeah, I know. He is your little bro, and you do care about him.”

“This is going to sound stupid,” Lukas paused for a moment before continuing, “But if I don’t return home… I don’t know, I just wish I could hear him say ‘Big Bro’ once. That isn’t too much to want, is it? Just to hear his voice saying it, referring to me, and for him to know I don’t hate him. If we don’t make it back. But it isn’t like that will happen… right?”

Matthias shook his head with a frown, “It won’t happen. We’ll make it out of here, and you’ll hear Ice again - I mean, maybe Emil won’t say big bro, but you’ll hear his voice, and those little grumpy sounds he makes when we ask him to do something. You’ll try to borrow Mr. Puffin to take care of him again, and you’ll help him through another “milestone” - like say, has he learned to drive yet? More for your photo album, right? He’s never going to be gone.”

“Oh yeah, and what do you know on the subject, Mr. Fancy Pants?” Lukas asked, partially poking fun at the other man, “You aren’t running whatever sick game this is, are you?? You better not be. Anyway, I suppose all we can do is hope for the best and keep our fingers crossed. If we can’t contact the outside, we have to hope we will at some stage.”

Gilbert surveyed the conversation before casually stepping between the two men, “Can you hold the fort down here? I’m going to go check on Feli and Ludwig, in the case something happened - y’know, everything’s so unpredictable these days. Just make sure everyone stays together.”

“Shouldn’t someone go with you?” Matthias asked, looking at the Prussian for a moment, “If you make us be accompanied, you should be accompanied yourself.”

The albino bit his lip softly, not enough to do any real damage, “It’s alright, I’ll be fine - besides, I know this house better than anyone aside from Feliciano, so I’ll know where to hide if I do see someone coming. And I’m not heading up to that creepy red room place - hell, I don’t even know why we’ve got it - so I’ll probably be fine. Just make sure no one dies and we’re all set. They’re all in this general area, so it shouldn’t be too hard - just stop someone if you see them wandering off, that kind of thing.”

He started to head for the base of the staircase when Lukas called after him. “Hey! Aren’t you wandering off?”

“Rules don’t count for the awesome Gilbert!” the Prussian yelled back, raising a fist into the air, “See you in a few!”


	13. Heart Of Glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey I'm back and not dead, unlike the characters in this story! No real trigger warnings for this chapter, if anything it's more of a shameful little filler, but enjoy regardless! I'm going to try and get more consistent with updating this, because it's really not the best how inconsistent my updates are (but life keeps getting in the way oof). It's been a crazy past month, but I hope you enjoy this chapter and look forward to the upcoming ones!! Thanks again to my awesome discord family, you guys rock!

It may have still been early in the day, only slightly past noon, but Gilbert still found himself feeling tired. The nights were called off early, most times - everyone going to bed at a reasonable time - and people didn’t wake up particularly early. If they did, almost anyone would go back to sleep in fear; nobody wanted to be the one person roaming the house alone without everyone else, especially at night. It was a little bit hot in the heavy coat Gilbert was wearing, and without a second thought he rolled the sleeves up his arms, exposing the pale skin. When he was younger, it wouldn’t have occurred to him to roll up the sleeves, leaving him looking slightly less fashionable for a minute, but that concern had faded out of his mind as the years passed. The whole upstairs had a strange scent to it, reminiscent of the bodies and rotting flesh. Reaching the top step, Gilbert cringed as it hit him head on. Within his heart there was a hope, a constant one, that no one else had died, that Feliciano was sleeping in the bed - perhaps even with Ludwig sitting with him, holding his hand or something.

Reaching the end of the hall, Gilbert found his hand around the knob to the door of his room. He pulled at it once, and finding it locked began to pat his pockets for the key Feliciano had left him. He found it promptly in the bottom right one, biting his lip as he tried to think of reasons why Feliciano would have locked the door - there was the obvious one, of course: safety. However, some gut feeling left Gilbert convinced this wouldn’t be a reason for Feliciano to lock the door. The man was absent-minded, there was no reason he’d come up with his safety as something to worry about. Maybe Ludwig had remembered and done it on Feliciano’s behalf? That was another possibility, perhaps the more likely of the two. With one hand in his pocket, Gilbert fished out the old brass key, already rusting over in some spots. He shook his head, sliding it seamlessly into the lock. Even with the door open less than a crack, there were already sounds he recognized but couldn’t quite place, just trying to turn over and understand everything in his still-tired mind.

The room was dark, and Gilbert fumbled for the light switch, flicking it on only moments later. “Felicia- HOLY FUCK WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?”

All the noises stopped, and Feliciano - still buried to the hilt in Ludwig’s bleeding ass - looked up at his husband with two large, innocent eyes. “Ve~ Gil-“ he chortled softly, “I’d forgotten you had the key and everything but you’re here now so… ciao!”

As much as he wished he could leave the room and never even think about what he’d seen in it, Gilbert found himself walking closer and closer to the bed, to his brother. He brushed his brother’s blond hair which lay askew and stuck to his sweat-covered forehead. He was still breathing, but just barely, and still fighting to keep his eyes in some form of open. “Feli-“ Gilbert’s shoulders sunk as he cradled his brother’s head, “Get your dick the fuck out of my little brother, and we’ll talk about this later,” his attention shifted to the German, his face already paling, “Ludwig, speak to me. It’s going to be alright. C’mon, say something - anything - it’s Gilbert now, what happened?”

Feliciano watched from the corner, already pulling his pants back up and straightening his tie. The German wouldn’t make it, not for another couple hours, and if anything Gilbert knew that as he watched his brother bleed out through the slit in his neck, his bare chest with dark purple bruising. “G-Gil?” Ludwig managed to wheeze out, but more than a name it just sounded like another exhaled breath, nothing more.

“Mein Gott…” Gilbert looked around frantically, trying to find something to help his brother with but to little avail. He wiped the sweat off his brow, trying to breathe slower and calm down a little bit, “Look, I raised you from a little boy, c’mon. I’ve been here your whole life, I’ll be damned if you leave, okay? Just… hang in there… you’re going to be okay alright? You’ve survived worse, right?? You’ll make it through this,” he watched the crystal blue eyes close shut slowly, “Oh God don’t die. Whatever’s wrong, you’re going to make it, okay? Just hang in there, I’m sure someone here’ll know what to do and they’ll patch you up and you’ll be fine, you heard that, Luddy? You’ll be fine!”

Gilbert laughed nervously, his body already beginning to shake, eyes wide as he stared at his brother. He kept running his fingers deftly against the German’s smooth cheek, feeling for the warmth he wished he could feel again. It only took a few moments before those heavy eyelids sunk over the light blue, Ludwig’s head sinking back into the bed for good. The sheets would need to be changed, Feliciano noted duly from the corner of the room. Gilbert collapsed face first onto the bed, his hand convulsing as he ran it through his stark white hair, feeling it gently brush past his palm. Had his nails been any longer, they would’ve scraped dull red lines into his scalp, perhaps even to the point of bleeding - although thankfully they’d been cut and so this disaster was narrowly avoided. “Y-you can’t die,” he stuttered, laughing fanatically for a second before snapping back to reality, his voice trembling, “Y-you aren’t dead, are you? You’re pretending, there’s no way… no way… You’re just taking a nap, right? Right, West? It’s just a nap, nothing else, there’s no way in fucking hell you’re dead. You can’t be. You’re just… really tired… sleep well for now, West, okay? Just… fucking shit, there’s no way you’re dead. Why are we talking about you being dead? You're not. Not dead.”

Feliciano smiled, biting his lip cautiously as he approached his husband. “Gil, how about you go back downstairs, ve~ you can talk to the guests. Go ahead, my king, have some fun! I’ll clean up here, for you, and then you can nap up later.”

With a wild look in his eyes, Gilbert shot up, and with a quick backhanded move he let his knuckles collide with the Italian’s cheek, watching as the man doubled over for a second to collect himself, spitting out droplets of blood onto the floor. Feliciano’s heart ached, even though he’d known Gilbert wouldn’t forgive - and how could he, for the sins Feliciano had committed, although it was only necessary - in the endgame his king stood by his side, even if just the two of them left in this godforsaken place. They were together. Feliciano smiled softly, letting the pain dissolve from his as he wiped the remaining blood from his lips onto his wrist. “How could you fucking-“ Gilbert’s voice broke, already breathy and losing the edge it’d had, “How- how could you- do this?”

“Ve~ I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Feliciano replied, feeling but ignoring a tiny trickle of blood seeping out of the corner of his mouth, cheek already bruising up.

“You know exactly what the fuck I’m talking about, and I j-just want to know-“ Gilbert choked back a sob, “How could you?”

None of it seemed real, and any moment the Prussian felt certain he’d be waking up from an awful dream, in a cold sweat, Feliciano sleeping softly beside him. He’d hear the little snores and occasional sleepy whimpers of the Italian, and it’d ease him back to the comfortable unconscious state he knew and loved. Instead, he didn’t wake up. Everything was still very much the same, and little by little, everything felt progressively less like a dream. “I didn’t,” Feliciano stared at him, a frighteningly soft look in his brown eyes, “How about you go back downstairs and have more to eat, ve~. Then you can lie down and take a nap and then have dinner and kiss their asses, it’ll work, then you’ll feel better, nothing happened. It’s all in your imagination, mio amore.”

“It’s… not real?” Gilbert asked again, his shaking hand still running through his hair.

Feliciano shook his head, planting a damp, harsh kiss onto Gilbert’s lips. “No, it’s not. Now, head back downstairs, and I will tidy up our room just the way you like it! I know you like these things all spick and span, and I’ll do my best for you!”

The Prussian sighed, letting his hand slip back down to his side, the crazed look fading from his eyes. It already felt fake, and here was his husband - the man he trusted more than anything, who had him wrapped around his little finger - confirming everything he already wanted to believe. With an aching heart, and the slight knowledge implanted in his subconscious of what Feliciano had done as he refused to acknowledge it, Gilbert headed back into the hallway and then down the stairs. There was no reason to keep his guests waiting. At some point it’d be impossible to deny what he knew; what he’d seen - but now, that wasn’t relevant, the only thing he had to watch out for was taking care of everyone else as best he could.

Feliciano surveyed the mess he’d made, the sheets stained both with blood and the creamy white semen, in some places the two even mixed together. Ludwig’s lifeless, bare body lay out on the bed, any shred of dignity he would’ve liked to have kept completely gone. Feliciano laughed, poking at the still-seeping hole one more time with guiltless pleasure before heading back into the bathroom, this time to begin to shower up. Pulling on the pants suddenly for Gilbert had left a sticky mess in his wake, and as Feliciano started to run the water for a shower he hummed, admiring his smile in the mirror. The biggest issue would be covering up the forming bruise on his cheek from being backhanded, but it’d be alright. Others thought of him as clumsy - something Feliciano had picked up on as he overheard a conversation a few years back - and he could make up a bald-faced lie that he’d fallen and gotten hit and they’d believe him.

The room was already beginning to steam up, and Feliciano stepped under the rushing warm water, feeling his skin tingle at the sudden and comfortable contact. He hummed softly still, occasionally whistling as he pumped out shampoo and conditioner onto the palm of this hand and rubbing them into this hair, working everything through slowly into a frothy mixture. It was relaxing, something he hadn’t felt for a while - and if nothing else, Feliciano found himself at ease with the world, every so often taking a deeper breath of the steam and closing his eyes. Momentarily he’d have to go back downstairs and play the part of the good host, and see how Gilbert was holding up with everything - oh, he’d probably have to also change the sheets and hide the body, but that would hopefully take less time.

He kicked slightly at the water at the bottom of the shower that had pooled up, watching it ripple back and forth with menial satisfaction. It was cooler than the water spurting out of the shower head, but it wasn’t cold either. He splashed a little bit onto his face, letting it steam off and clean some of the blood off his bruising face. It hurt a little bit, but not so much that he’d have to comment on it. Next up was washing the remainder of the sticky white substance between his thighs, which he did with gentle, tentative fingers, rubbing at some of it until it became one with the water and slipped away down the drain. 

Feliciano pushed aside the shower curtains, reaching back with one hand to jerk the smooth, metal faucet closed. He wiped off some of the steam in the mirror, staring at his own reflection and dampened auburn hair. There wasn’t so much more to do now. The hardest part was over, now it was about pulling through to the desired success in the end, and cleaning up the mess he’d made. There was an axe in Matthias’ room which Feliciano had let him keep - since most people didn’t get to have their weapons, but Matthias had protested since he’d had this axe since he was young - that could likely be used to help his work cleaning up. Taking a deep breath, Feliciano grabbed a towel; it’d be a long night.

Back on the first floor, Gilbert stumbled into the room, sitting down beside Tino at the dining room table. The Finn already looked generally forlorn, the cheery smile he’d worn so frequently before slipping off his ashen face into the abyss. His eyes constantly wore the look of being on verge of crying, as if he’d start nearly any moment but never was capable of bringing himself to actually doing it. The same way Gilbert found himself slipping into denial, Tino still couldn’t believe Berwald was gone, the world feeling more of a shadow than anything else. Gilbert tapped his shoulder, “How’re you doing?” he asked softly, refusing to meet the other man’s eyes.

“I’m alright,” Tino smiled, but it was clear to both of them it was forced, along with the tone he choked himself to maintain, “How about you?”

“Stop,” Gilbert commanded, “You don’t have to be all happy, it’s fine. If you’re sad, you’re sad. If you’re mad - like Matthias trying to play recorder for the umpteenth time and failing - then you’re mad. I’m not going to hold that against you. I’m fine, all is well. It’s a nice day.”

Tino let his face fall again, feeling a little more comfortable with the bland expression now gracing his face. He stared down at the table, “You’re sure? It sounds like not everything is right, I mean, it’s a guess, but maybe I’m wrong, you never know, it could go either way, or-“

“It’s fine, all’s well,” Gilbert sighed, “Is it too early to crack out the beer? I could really use a bottle… or two… or a milkshake…”

Tino thought for a moment. “It’s never too early to bring out the alcohol, if you want it, I’m sure Matthias could go grab some. He’s been setting up the storage room for a bit before all this insanity happened, I bet if you asked him he’d be willing to grab you some. I think he even arranged the German beer there too if you want that kind in particular - really, it’s up to you if you want it! Here- Matthias! Yeah, can you grab some of the booze up from the basement, Gil’d like some! Thank you!!”

“Thanks-“ Gilbert started, before shaking his head and putting back on his own smile - he’d seen nothing, nothing bad had happened, there was no way. Just his imagination, acting up again, like Feliciano had told him. “It’ll be good to get some booze up in here! It’s always a good time with some beer, ja?”

Tino nodded, drumming his fingers on the table for a moment. Matthias watched them from the other end of the table, already standing up, his hand wrapped around Lukas’. “You’re not going to let me go?” Lukas asked, feeling the heat of the other man’s hand against his. He remarked this with some pleasure, what could even be called a smirk on his face. 

“Do ya want me to let you go, Norge?” Matthias asked back, pulling the Norwegian into his arms as he walked toward the dining room. 

Lukas coughed slightly at the sudden constriction of his chest, Matthias already wrapping his arms in a firm embrace around Lukas’ back, letting one hand slip up and tousle the back of his hair. Usually Lukas would pull away and make some remark about his dumbass lover, but today he leaned in instead, allowing a few moments together before breaking the hold, rather gently as he took the Dane’s hand in his own. “It’s fine how it is, you idiot,” the Norwegian replied, doing his best to remain stone faced, “If there are no objections you don’t need to push it, do you? Let’s go get the beer, maybe things will clear up a little after we get it.”

“You’re still worried about Emil, aren’t you?” Matthias asked, suddenly serious as he stroked gently at the Norwegian’s cheek with the back of his hand, trying to comfort the man as best he could. 

Ever since they’d left for this mansion, Lukas had seemed a little on edge, trying to text Emil every night, trying to get more information about how everything was going back at the house. He often asked Emil to live with him, in the same house as Matthias and himself, and it hadn’t been too long ago before Emil agreed to stay with them until he could find his own place. Thus, questions arose surrounding if Emil had thrown house parties or had anyone over or what he’d eaten for dinner - all of which the young Icelandic answered with general disdain, for his brother’s sake. There was a certain amount of this which Matthias recognized as Lukas feeling the need to stay close to him, constantly worrying about not being there for the boy’s milestones and watching him grow up. When the signal had died entirely a few days ago, Lukas had thrown the phone across the room, cracking the screen in two places. A couple of shards of glass were lost to the ages, and Matthias had done his best to fix the phone back up, even though there was little use for it anymore. He’d stuck a little light grey duct tape across the front of the screen, passing it gently back to his lover in the case he’d want it back - although it was hard to tell if Lukas actually did.

“I told you before,” Lukas shook his head, trying to ignore his thoughts, “I’m not worried, I just want to know how he’s doing. So little bro doesn’t break the house or something, you know? You have to watch out for things like that.”

“I’m sure he’s just on a date with Leon or fiddling around on some website or something, you-“

“And what if that website is something like porn, or the dark web? I- I know it could be totally safe and he could just be texting Leon but I don’t want him to get into trouble, he’s still young and impressionable, you know? It’s not like I’m worried about him or anything, I just want to know what he’s doing, as his big brother.”

Matthias frowned, “It’s alright to worry about the kid, okay? He’s still growing, still young, but he knows you’re a good big brother. Even if he can’t check up on you all the time - and vice versa - it’ll be alright; he’s old enough to take care of himself. He’s always been, you know? He had that old house a while back before he agreed to stay with us, and even then he was alright from time to time. He’s not going to die or anything in the meantime, silly, he’ll still be there when we get back, and you’ll be able to hear his voice.”

“You still keep forgetting that we might not ever get out of here,” Lukas ground his teeth, “Look how many have already died! It’s the majority of the people who came here, you idiot! What makes you think it’ll be any different from us?”

The Dane paused for a second, to think. “Listen, you’ll hear his voice again. Even if it’s the last thing you do, you’ll hear it.”

“What are you on about, dumbass?” Lukas pulled Matthias along and down the cellar stairs, ready to get the liquor up for their host and be done with the task.

It was evident that Matthias had something on his mind, the way he paused periodically, and let his eyes glaze off into the distance, indicating his thoughts weren’t present with his lover. It was a strange thing to Lukas, who found the other man rarely taking time to think anything over - meaning that whatever this was must be incredibly important. Especially for someone so spontaneous and headstrong, it was strange, and would’ve put Lukas off a little bit had he not acted the very same way almost his entire life. Lukas unclasped his hand from his lover’s and instead wrapped it around the blond’s shoulders, giving his far right shoulder a gentle squeeze. The silk fabric of the vest felt nice on his hand, and although Lukas didn’t smile, Matthias knew he was attempting with all his might to seem more at ease; if not for himself, for the Dane. When he didn’t get a response from Matthias, Lukas didn’t push it - if the man wanted to tell him, he would, and if not, well… that was alright too. He’d find out eventually.

At the bottom of the stairs there was an inescapable silence, one which Matthias would usually break by yelling or humming or whistling - none of which he did today. Instead he strode down to the racks of beer and wine he’d spent painstaking hours setting up beforehand, and chose several of the fine Germany beer bottles. They clinked together, and as Lukas realized the other man was struggling with it, he reached over to grab a couple to carry up himself. This evidently made the load much easier to handle, and Matthias started back up the stairs. “You know, from the way the sunlight hits your hair it looks like a pineapple.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” Matthias laughed, the glass knocking together once more with the striated sound that almost always emitted from the collision.

Lukas shrugged, shutting the door neatly behind the two of them. “I don’t know. By the way, do you think we’ve got any more fruit in the house. It’s going to go bad and if they’ve got it, maybe some fish and melon would make a good lunch. Your hair looking like a pineapple reminded me of that, nothing else. Do you think they’ve got it?”

“I don’t know,” Matthias entered the dining room, passing beers to both Gilbert - who popped his open eagerly and took a chug of it - and Tino, who was a little more reluctant to move but still accepted the liquor gracefully, “You can go check if ya want, Norge, then if there is, it’s all yours. I’m pretty certain all the food’s communal here - well, your butter isn’t communal - but most other things should be. If ya want melon, then go in there and see if ya can find some, and I’ll be in a bit, alright?”

Lukas nodded and made his way into the kitchen. Although a lot of the house seemed like it should be quiet - and it was, the sound had lowered significantly from the party the first night - there was still a comfortable amount of noise. Raivis and Peter spent the days playing around, sometimes hiding and seeking and other times checkers - or whatever they could find. Nguyen sat on the couch, trying to find an acceptable way to remember everyone who had passed. She didn’t look up nor speak to anyone, her face deadpanned as she waited for some news on what had happened to Lin, if anything had happened. As time passed, she became more and more certain that she’d never see the smile on the Taiwanese woman’s face again, nor feel the same adrenaline rush of happiness when they were together.

Sitting on opposite sides of the coffee table which Berwald had built for the house were Arthur and Matthieu, recounting old times with Francis and Alfred. Nothing had been confirmed completely on Alfred, but he was treated as if he were dead as he was a hostage, and thus if anyone tried to leave they’d be responsible for his death as well as the deaths of everyone remaining. Although at this point it may have seemed more reasonable for at least one person to attempt the escape - if not everyone - no one had the desire to bear the blood of their comrade on their hands. Arthur still felt himself slipping down the hole of self doubt. No one seemed to blame him for the Frenchman’s death, but there was no way he couldn’t take responsibility. Maybe, just maybe, he’d actually loved him, and that frog would never get the chance to be told. Every memory Matthieu recounted which included Francis in it made Arthur feel worse and worse, the way he’d always flirted and joked around and kept the mood light. Arthur bit his lip. “I’m going to go get some tea from the kitchen, alright? There’s nothing like tea in the afternoon, you know.”

He marched into the kitchen without another word to the young Canadian, who simply brushed his hair back and adjusted his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. They’d had a tendency to slip down more than he’d liked after that wild night, when Matthieu was relatively certain he’d fallen asleep with Kiku without taking his glasses off. It seemed that a certain gloom hung over almost everyone in the house as they mourned one loss or another. Even Lukas, the only person who hadn’t exactly lost someone officially yet - seeing as Emil didn’t come and his lover was still alive - was worried enough over everything else happening that he grew a propensity to put people on edge more so than anyone else could. He stood in the kitchen, his back to everyone else as he tried to fish out the small container of watermelon he’d found looking around in the back of the fridge. “So they’re breaking out the beer already, huh?” Arthur asked, startling Lukas more than he’d care to admit.

“Yeah, why not. It’s been a trying day for almost everyone here, and who knows, we’ve probably lost more people than they were able to find the bodies for,” Lukas replied, melon in hand. It didn’t quite compare to Gilbird - who he almost wished he could eat again, even though he’d done it the first time on an inebriated whim - but the melon did suffice his current hunger. “If you want some there’re extra bottles in the dining room on the table or something. Go ask Matthias, he’ll give you one.”

“I was just commenting on it, I don’t want any right now,” Arthur stated coldly, searching for the kettle to start boiling water, “Besides, tea is a better drink for the early afternoon than beer will ever be.”

“Alright, suit yourself. It’s not like anyone’s going to stop you or anything,” Lukas shot back, his voice emotionless as ever, “I’m just here to get a little something to eat, nothing else. I’m going back into the dining room now. See you around.”

Lukas wandered back into the dining room, taking a comfortable seat beside Matthias on the far end of the table. He seemed to have just been sitting there, listening in on Gilbert and Tino’s conversation about the state of affairs. It was apparent they’d have to do another house search, with only nine people (not including Feliciano) back with everyone. “Was Felciano doing alright when you checked in on him not too long ago? He’s had a long day, all well for him?” Tino asked, taking another sip on his almost empty bottle. He was starting to feel a pick up in his mood, a little bit less sad as the fever of drunkenness overcame him. 

Gilbert shrugged, already reaching for a second bottle. “He’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. It’s not like anything could possibly be wrong, all is well. I don’t know if my sanity is really doing okay in this, but it’s all okay, everything’s fine. I’m awesome, that’s always the case. All’s fine.”

“Maybe you should lie down or something,” Tino suggested softly, biting his lip. It was apparent from the nervous nature of speech, the nearly cracking tone of voice Gilbert was struggling to sustain that there was something wrong, although no one quite knew what to do about it. Maybe something did go wrong in the bedroom, maybe the killer was there… Tino shivered, his mind wandering to what Gilbert could’ve seen. He was strong, and had gone through hardships like almost anyone else. Whatever could’ve broken him like this was serious, and something Tino knew from the back of his foggy mind that they’d have to take care of and address at some point. “I mean, I don’t know what was in there but I think you should take a nap or something.”

“A nap, seriously?” Gilbert laughed wildly, “It’s the middle of the day, how unawesome is that? Anyway, everything’s fine, all is fine, nothing could possibly be wrong.”

“I’d hardly say nothing’s wrong, people have died, you know? And not the ones we’d want - I mean, sometimes it has to rain blood, that’s just life - but not the way it is now, and not with these people. Something is wrong, people are dying, but… we don’t know who and how and why and-“

“And if we worry about it, it’s not like we’ll get ourselves anywhere,” Lukas cut in from across the table, staring at both the drunken men, his lips damp with watermelon juice, “If we wait and try to find an answer together at some point, we’ll be able to make it out of here. I mean, we’ve had to deal with bad things before, who says we can’t deal with whatever this is? I’m sure there’s a way out somewhere since there has been in the past, and whatever it is we’ll find it, you know? Now shut up about all of this bullshit, worrying isn’t solving the problem and it isn’t making anything better, it’s making things worse. How about we don’t do it, and then we’ll be able to do a little bit better in this crazy game, whatever it is.”

“Alright,” Gilbert nodded, “I won’t worry, because everything’s totally fine.”

“I’d never known you to be so… optimistic, Norge,” Matthias laughed, pulling the Norwegian’s face over to him by the chin and tilting his head up into a kiss, “Optimistic and a melon flavor! Nice!”

“Could you stop being so annoying?” Lukas shook his head, before giving the Dane another quick kiss, still displaying no emotion on his pale face, “Besides, we’ve got greater issues than me being melon flavored.”

“Do you want me to go up and see what you were so worried about?” Tino nudged Gilbert, trying to get some rise out of the Prussian, “I can go check on Feli again if you need, why don’t you lie down?”

“I’ll lie down in a while,” Gilbert rolled his eyes, his body shaking slightly, “Even if it is unawesome. Just… don’t go up there, alright? I think it’s about time we group up and check on everyone again, maybe send out some new search parties soon. If we don’t go now, it’ll be dinner soon, then night. We’ll deal with things as they come… for now, let’s just drink a bit, why not? It’s easier to go through hell drunk than sober.”


	14. Bridge Over Troubled Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS SO LATE I AM SORRY! It's not dead tho (not like a lot of characters), and I promise to start doing a better job. I'm planning a writing binge soon, so it should be one chapter after another for a couple days while I try to bring this closer to a close! Warning for description of bodies and mentions of suicide, but if you've been reading this chances are you already know stuff gets pretty brutal. I can't believe it's already at 14 chapters, and you can look forward to more where that came from!

The day had already faded to evening by the time Feliciano came back down to the main floor, brushing off his hands again. He’d managed to hack all limbs off the corpse using an old rusty axe from the shed - much to his own dismay, since keeping it seemed good in case he needed to relieve pressure again - but there were always others. With immense effort, Feliciano lugged it all in the bloody, semen-stained bedsheets down the corridor and into his private study, where everything would be most out of the way. After that, it was only a matter of remaking the bed and setting everything back to normal. It was mainly Gilbert he fretted about here, because now so much of the Prussian’s life was a lie - and as much as Feliciano wanted to destroy everything, taking the world for his own, he wanted the man he loved by his side. Now, the only way to keep things that way would be to perpetually lie, gaslighting the other man into believing something that never was the case.

He sauntered into the dining room, Gilbert laughing maniacally with Tino and Matthias. Lukas had elected to stay sober in the case he was needed, and from the kitchen came a thick cloud of black smoke which Feliciano hadn’t been quite ready to investigate. He approached his lover carefully, planting a soft kiss on his fluffy head of stark white hair. “How are you doing, mio amore?” he asked, wrinkling his nose slightly at the stench of alcohol wreaking off his husband.

“I’m good, everything is awesome, it’s all fine!” Gilbert laughed, haphazardly knocking at one of the bottles.

It fell to the floor, shattering and leaving beer and slick amber glass over the wooden floors; just another thing to clean up. “What did I miss?” Feliciano did his best to smile and stay cheery, “It’s been a while, ve~ did you guys do anything without me? Drinking?”

“Yeah, brauhaus,” Gilbert hiccuped, and Tino patted him on the back, “Just drinking, n-nothing much!”

“It’s good that you have time with company, especially since that was the point of getting everyone here! It’s a lot of fun to spend time with all our friends, ve~ especially for you. I'm glad you were able to get this time, right? I mean, it would be a boring evening without everything! But, you are here, and I am here, so it should be a lot of a good time - did someone make dinner? Ve~ Did Arthur try again? He really shouldn’t- I’ll go take care of that and get you guys some food~”

“No need, we’ll just make it an early night. Everyone here is tired as fuck, my pet is dead, most people here are missing - really, Feli, they’re all goooone-“ Gilbert steadied himself on Tino’s arm, nearly falling out of his chair, his mind foggy still, “New room assignments with whoever the fuck is still around, and then we’ll have the most awesome long sleep ever!”

“Gil, you doing okay?” Tino asked, wrapping one arm around the Prussian’s shoulders to prevent him from falling, “Maybe you should go to bed, you look like you’re going to collapse on the spot! And that would be good for no one, so go ahead and sleep, get the room assignments set! You’re with your husband, I’m with Ludwi-“

Gilbert thrust a hand up to Tino’s lips, cutting him off from speaking. “Don’t mention h-him,” he hiccuped, “Y-you have a room w-with someone else, o-okay? Who now? Who else haven’t we seen? You’re with Nguyen tonight mein Freund, good good, we’ve got that set, that’s great! Uhhhhh I think that’s all we had to do,” Gilbert let out another one of his zany laughs, one of the things Feliciano liked about him; no one else had a laugh like his lover’s, “Cool I’m gonna tag out for the night and sleep now, peace out guys!”

Although the evening wasn’t too heavy yet, there was a gloom which fell uncomfortably about the house. It has started to rain outside, the water rapping against the window panes in an unsettling fashion to many of the inhabitants, most of whom decided to follow their host up to bed. No one admitted it, the rooms silent except for the sound of footsteps and occasional hushed whispers, but taking the same time to head up to bed was somehow comforting. Arthur had gotten ready for bed quickly, already lying in his bed. He closed his eyes, feeling his body shaking slightly. Francis was still fresh on his mind, and something deep within Arthur’s heart told him that the evening a couple days ago was the last time he would ever see his beloved Alfred. The two of them fought all the time, Alfred constantly bothersome and immature - heck, Francis fought with him too; or rather, he fought with Francis. 

Arthur rolled over, trying his best to bury his head into the pillow, just to numb the shaking sensation he could already feel taking him over. He wasn’t an emotional man, never had been, but there was something different here. The rest of anyone who he might have considered family at some far-off point in time were all outside this hellish mansion, just him inside. His shoulders ached, and he wished again and again that Alfred hadn’t convinced him to come and he could have avoided this whole hell himself. Staying at home had always worked, why couldn’t he have done it again? Arthur bit his lip, a restless, uneasy feeling rushing over him, reminding him that as much as he’d want to sleep, it was going to be hard to get there. Once again, he repeated the words he’d known for so long over and over again in his head. ‘I didn’t love that stupid frog’, ‘he meant nothing to me’. Somehow this attitude the cold man had held for so long, keeping up his guard vigilantly to avoid a single display of emotion, broke him down even more. 

His bottom lip trembled, and he pulled the pillow away from his head and wrapped his arms around it, burying his head into it to try and sleep easier. It didn’t help. The thing he’d tried to avoid for so long, the warm pressure building up behind his eyes, suddenly began, the warm, salty liquid spilling down his cheeks. Arthur wiped away the tears softly, indignant with himself for letting any happen in the first place. Matthieu sat up abruptly, woken by the sound. He stared over at Arthur, his violet eyes sullied with worry. “Arthur… are you okay?” he whispered, but like always Arthur didn’t hear him, and with a pang of hurt, Matthieu lay back down and tried to go to sleep.

It took a little over half an hour, but Arthur finally could feel the tension in his body easing off, the pillow soiled with tear stains. He heaved shakily, trying to find some form of solace where there seemed to be none. He was tired; exhausted from a whole day of doing nothing aside from worrying and regretting everything he’d done, all the mistakes he made. With one last sigh, Arthur finally found himself slipping into sleep, a state he’d yearned for so long. In the moonlight that slipped in through the window, peaking between the heavy clouds, his face became illuminated, the tracks of his tears practically glowing in the light.

There was still stirring in the room next door as Matthias checked around the room - namely, the closets and under the bed - to make sure there were no murderers in the room. Lukas frowned at him. “Stop acting like I’m a child, you’re so annoying. Just get in the bed, even if there is a murderer we’re going to be together and don’t you have your battle axe around here somewhere? Look, it’s going to be fine.”

Reluctantly, Matthias padded barefoot across the room and slipped into bed, taking the Norwegian up in his arms. He could feel the warm breath against his neck, savoring every moment as he planted a gentle kiss on the other man’s mop of blond hair. Usually he’d be pushed away, but on rare occasions when the other man actually felt some kind of desire for contact, he’d be there with Matthias. “Okay, you can worry Nor. I’m worried too. I just wanted to check and see if there was anything obvious. I can’t lose you, Nor. I know I don’t say this a lot,” Matthias frowned, his expression suddenly serious, “You’re my everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Live, I guess,” Lukas shrugged, cuddling in closer to Matthias as he wrapped an arm around the small of his back, “Anyway, you still have me for now and I don’t intend to go anywhere. You better not either, I don’t say it either but I can’t lose you, so don’t you even think about getting murdered or otherwise, got it?”

Matthias laughed softly, all thoughts of loss out of his mind. His senses and mind were consumed by the other man, the one he could hold in his arms and kiss and talk to. Lukas was his world, everything else fading out of his view. Lukas wanted to hear Emil’s voice - Matthias remembered - there was a chance he could take old voice recordings on his phone and make it sound like the Icelandic had said ‘big bro’, like Lukas had wanted. As he closed his eyes, Matthias made the decisions that he’d do that tomorrow, sneaking downstairs early in the morning to get it all done and surprise Lukas when he woke up. “I love you,” Matthias murmured, letting his lips meet Lukas’ one final time, “Sleep well.”

“Love you too, idiot,” Lukas replied, tucking his head just below the Dane’s chin, at last allowing himself to drift off into a sleep which would be comfortable and long-awaited.

* * *

The next morning came with light flickering through the windows, dancing in patterns with the amount that could sneak through the holes in the curtains. Matthias was awoken first, and noticing Lukas still sound asleep in the bed, he untangled their bodies, kissed Lukas firmly on the forehead, and left the bed. He edged his feet into the slippers at the edge of the bed, quickly slipped on actual pants and a shirt for the day, and headed downstairs. Behind him, Matthias left the door wide open

Further down the hall, Feliciano lay in bed, still staring up at the ceiling. From down the hall, he could hear Matthias leaving his room, and from one of the rooms the sound of someone sobbing. It was probably Tino, he’d had an especially hard time having been the first to lose anyone, but regardless of who it was Feliciano didn’t seem to care too much. He lifted Gilbert’s arm off of his chest, setting it gently beside the Prussian before hopping out of bed himself. This next one would be easy enough. The days wore more and more on Feliciano, his eyes already aching from the light and the few hours of sleep he’d managed to get, but none of it mattered too much to him. He headed over to the dresser, tugging on the knobs and flipping through the folded shirts and pants until he settled upon a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, nice and casual for the day. He hopefully wouldn’t have to deal with too much blood today, meaning he didn’t need as much to protect his skin from getting stained. Feliciano peeked out the door, his hazel eyes watching Matthias head down the stairs softly, leaving Lukas alone in his room. Feliciano paused for a second, thinking, before reopening the drawer and fishing around until his fingers wrapped around the frayed, rough coil of rope he kept in the bottom hidden behind his shirts.

He rotated his head to look back at Gilbert, still sprawled out half-way on top of the covers, a little line of drool seeping out of the corner of his mouth. It would take a while for the Prussian to wake up, he knew, and with that left the room silently. Feliciano tiptoed down the hall until he reached Lukas’ room, wrapping his slender fingers around the knob before giving the door an effortless tug to open it just enough so Feliciano could get inside. On the bed lay Lukas, still sleeping quite heavily for such a blatant morning time. Feliciano looked around the room once. He’d need a place to tie up the rope. His eyes fell upon the high hooks holding up Matthias’ battle axe; that would do nicely.

The Italian approached the sleeping man with caution, until he was close enough to throw the noose-like attachment over Lukas’ head and pull it taut. The Norwegian barely stirred from his sleep, and Feliciano dropped the end of the rope momentarily. He made his way over to the wall, doing his best to lower the axe off the hooks so he’d have them more accessible. His hands found their way around the firm, metal base of the weapon, although in a way it was a struggle to lift from the height. He wasn’t tall in the same way Matthias was - heck, looking at it, the Dane practically loomed over him - and so the axe was both substantially more weighted and larger than Feliciano was usually used to dealing with. The faint sound of the worn metal axe head, which had been ground away after years of fighting could be heard as it scraped against the hook supporting it. Feliciano bit his lip, shifting weight over to lift it off without waking the Norwegian. His face and back of the neck already felt hot with perspiration, each action progressively more labored than the one before it.

He managed to set it down with a quiet thump, and glanced over at the bed. He wandered over slowly, almost in the same bewilderment of a child as he stared at the sleeping man’s face. It was smooth and peaceful, rather than bearing the angry glance he saw on it all the time. Feliciano’s hands tightened around the rope, already feeling the tension burn against his soft palms. It was only a matter of time, he thought, starting to work the top of the rope around the other man’s neck.

Back down on the ground floor, Matthias sat at the dining room table. He’d managed to get several recordings of Emil’s voice, mostly from videos he’d taken without the other man’s knowledge. Part of the reason to keep them was to bring them back at some point later, just to remind him of what he used to be like when he was younger. It had been hard, but Matthias had been able to splice the vowels from the clips, just so it would sound like a recording of him saying “Hello big bro” - one of the things Lukas always said he wanted to hear, even though he denied it. The morning had begun to slip by, more and more people slowly flooding downstairs to get their coffee, breakfasts, and compare and contrast everything that had happened. Matthias found himself in good spirits as he played the recording again and again, flipping it over to get it just right. He’d have it soon enough, Matthias had confidence in that.

He could hear footsteps coming from behind the chair, but was only jostled out of his focused state upon feeling a soft hand on his shoulder. “Matthias! Where’s Lukas?” the voice bounced through his headphones, and with a start, he slipped them off and put them back down onto the wooden table.

They fell with a soft clinking noise, and Matthias looked up with soft blue eyes. “Oh. He’s sleeping upstairs in the bed still, he was pretty tired so I just let him sleep! It was a lot easier that way, otherwise he gets all grumpy and starts demanding coffee immediately. You know, probably the same way you were… back…” he could practically feel the tears pressing against Tino’s eyes, “Forget it. But you know what I mean, it’s better to let him sleep, he’ll be happier when he wakes up.”

“Den…” Tino’s voice trailed off for a moment, a single tear making it’s way down his cheek although he wiped it away as quickly as he could, trying to disguise that it was ever there, “You remember the whole thing on how we weren’t supposed to leave people alone…?”

There was a moment in which Matthias’ face changed from the carefree expression he’d been wearing to one much more contorted, with an almost anxious appearance although it quickly returned to normal. “It’s Lukas. One of the most powerful- I mean, he doesn’t really take shit from anyone if you know what I mean. I’m sure he’ll be fine. Oh, and his gift is almost done! As soon as I polish it up I can give it to him. I’ll go right now, finish it up on the walk and surprise him, y’know? Who doesn’t like a good old fashioned surprise?”

“Okay,” Tino took a step back uneasily, trying to confirm to himself the same thing Matthias seemed so confident in; if the Dane wasn’t worried then why should he be? 

Matthias didn’t reply, only standing up to head in the direction of the stairs. There was a lot more sunlight in the room than there had been when he first came down, a certain warm glow to everything which left him feeling comforted in a way which was difficult to explain. He passed person after person, some with bags under their eyes from sleepless nights of worrying, others with the tracks of tears remaining on their cheeks. Still, Matthias wore what could’ve been taken as a smile, still relatively pleased with his handiwork. It had taken him a while to set everything up, and with that came a good amount of pride for himself and the closest thing to joy he could get. Each person he passed seemed to stare for a moment or so to see if he was really smiling; ever since the announcement about Alfred not too long ago, everyone had lost someone even if they hadn’t found the body. There was too much unknown, people kept disappearing.

The Dane took a step onto the stairs, pressing the play button on his phone again just to hear the voice. Sure, a couple parts of it sounded a little bit choppy, but it was Emil’s voice nonetheless and so it would suffice, or so he hoped. Their room was relatively close to the top of the stairs, so it was just a few steps through the darkened hallway to be able to reach the door, which was closed. All as it should have been. Matthias smiled faintly - Lukas was probably still asleep, maybe even enough for Matthias to climb back into the bed and cuddle him before he was awake enough to push the Dane away. “Hey Norge-“

In one moment, the door was open, and Matthias felt his heart stop motion as it sunk in his chest.

On the far side of the room, hanging from one of the hooks which had held his battle axe, the Norwegian man was hanging from a rope tied tightly around his neck. The face Matthias had known and loved so well had become blotchy and red, one of Lukas’ eyes stuck open with a bloodshot appearance. He looked like he’d struggled with everything too, one of his hands scraped and red with rope burn which - had he managed to get out - would have needed to be treated almost immediately. His blond, tousled hair was in a state of disarray, either falling in his face in a disgraceful manner or pushed drastically away from it. There was a slight trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth, namely from Lukas biting through his lip by mistake during the process. The phone slipped from Matthias’ hand onto the floor, and he rushed over to the side of his lover. As quickly as he could, he slipped the rope off the hook, lowering his love slowly into his arms.

With an unseen tenderness, he yanked gently on the edge of the rope, just enough to take it off Lukas’ neck. His head fell backwards at an awkward angle, his mouth falling open in a painfully fake-looking animated way. Matthias stroked one cheek, doing his best not to cry at the appearance of the Norwegian. His neck was bleeding and blotchy from the struggle he’d put up trying to get out, however unsuccessfully. Staring down at the rest of the body, the only other noticeable difference from how he’d left Lukas was the damp spot in the man’s pajama pants. It left the body in a disgrace, something Matthias knew Lukas would never stand for had he been alive.

As carefully as he could, Matthias picked up Lukas and set him down on the bed, trying to cover up the embarrassing stain on his pants. It was the least he could do for his fallen lover - not only that, but it had been a hanging - which to Matthias meant one thing, and one thing alone: Lukas had committed suicide. As if a weight had been dropped down on him, crushing his every hope and belief, Matthias had to push away tears like so many before him. He tiptoed over to the phone, and with one hand pressed the play button. “I… this was for you- you know, in case you never got to hear his voice again, I wanted you to be able to hear this,” Matthias swallowed the lump in his throat hard, a dryness in his mouth before he gave a quick, pained chuckle, “But… I guess you won’t hear it again. WHY?! WHY DID YOU HAVE TO DIE?”

His shoulders slumped and he fell back beside Lukas’ body, caressing his cheek again before giving it a soft kiss, the cold skin already foreign to his lips. “Norge… You didn’t have to, we were going to get out, it was going to be okay. It was… Now?” he glanced at his lover’s bloodshot eye, pressing the eyelid down with one hand, “Now I’m not so sure.”

Matthias bit his tongue, leaving the phone next to Lukas’ head before leaving the room, already starting on his way downstairs. He reached the bottom of stairs in a puddle of sadness, so much so that the majority of people on the first floor turned to look in his direction. “Hi guys,” he said, his voice much quieter than usual, eyes glued to the wooden floorboard, “I have some news. Bad news. Lukas… committed suicide.”

Gilbert was the first by his side, already holding Matthias in a tight hug. He wasn’t much for hugging, but this was a different situation. Matthias leaned over, letting himself rest his head on Gilbert’s shoulder, his body already shaking more than he’d like to admit. His chest rose and fell, and for a moment that was the world, nothing more than the silence that loomed over the room in a foreboding cloud. Most everyone else stood on and watched, either too buried in their own miseries or in bewilderment of what had happened. Of everyone, Lukas had been stable, making it through each day. Why had he died? Something didn’t make sense - not to those who thought deeply about it - but they were so few and far between that it had almost no effect on everyone else.

The Prussian dragged his friend into the kitchen, already cracking open a bottle of beer. “Where’s Feli?” Matthias asked, already wrapping his fingers around the bottle.

“Oh, he’s back up in our room getting dressed for the day or something I think, he wanted to take his time this morning.”

Matthias took a sip. “That’d do it. Well, let’s drink! We can toast to our loneliness; it’s better than drinking alone!”

“That it is,” Gilbert agreed, clinking his bottle against the Dane’s, “That it is.”

In the kitchen, Arthur sat at the island, mulling over his cup of tea. It brought him a certain warmth that almost helped compensate for the emptiness he felt inside his heart, and while the compensation definitely wasn’t much there was always the chance it would be able to help somehow, somewhere. “How are you this morning?” Matthieu came over, pulling up a seat causally beside the Brit. He was typically overlooked when it came to almost anyone, but he did know how to do some good if someone would pay attention for once.

“I’m fine,” Arthur replied, his tone with a bitter kick to it, “How are you?”

It felt nice to be recognized for a moment, even if over something so negative. Still, Matthieu cared about everyone in that house whether or not they cared about him, which was on occasion the most painful part of trying to help them. “I’m alright too,” Matthieu replied, silently hoping that his brother would come back at some point, no longer hostage - although Matthieu himself had begun to give up on the idea of any of them ever getting out, “Still missing Francis and Alf?”

“No, you wanker, of course not! I don’t miss people. Idiot.”

In their own way, the words hurt to say, hurt to have come for his mouth. It was better to pretend he wasn’t sad and that nothing mattered. He’d already done it for so long, why should he care about a worthless energetic American and that stupid wanker frog who always made him uncomfortable with each word and action? He turned back to his tea, taking another drink. It was black, and the most caffeinated thing he’d brought with him. Some days just needed caffeine to provide both fuel and will to do anything with the day. Besides, what was there to do? Play games? Talk to people? As time passed there were fewer and fewer people to play the games with. He could sort his tea collection again, going through everything he’d brought with him and arranging it in a different way. He’d done the same thing yesterday too, putting the little bags sorted places so they'd create a pleasant arrangement. He could do the same today, just selecting an alternate metric and going along with it. Maybe it wasn’t the most exciting, but it was something to do.

“It’s fine to miss them,” Matthieu cut in, restraining himself from patting Arthur - he’d only gain the Brit’s wrath, which he generally wanted to avoid, especially now, “I mean, they’re gone. It is what it is. But you aren’t the only one in pain and missing them. Alfred is my brother. Francis raised me and paid far more attention to me than you ever did. They were my family, and they’re dead now. So yeah, it hurts. And it’s fine to miss them.”

“I don’t! I don’t miss them!” Arthur stood up, beelining for the couch, away from the Canadian, “I don’t know what you’re talking about; I don’t miss people. To miss someone is weak, I’d hardly do it.”

Matthieu shook his head solemnly, the corners of his half-hearted smile slipping down into a pout. Maybe they’d get out and be free before everyone was dead or missing or hostage. Heck, maybe it was more worth it to try and leave - but no, he couldn’t do that, not to Alfred and everyone else in the mansion. That was the one thing keeping Matthieu down, the guilt he’d have if he could get out and no one else could. They were all expendable. Just toys, pieces in a game. He heard footsteps coming from the room and turned his head, in the doorway standing the Italian. Matthieu smiled again. “Oh! Bonjour Feli!”

“Ciao Matthieu! Have you gotten a chance to eat yet this morning? You can have anything in here you like at all, no problem at all! Just go right ahead and take it! Make sure you have breakfast; it’s the most important meal of the day. Who am I kidding, they’re all the most important meals! Food!” he started poking around in the fridge, fishing out a container of eggs to start cooking some up. Eggs weren’t something he had too often for breakfast, but he could have them with tomatoes and it would be a nice deviation from the norm.

“Sure, I’ll get some cereal or something easy. Just in the container in the cabinet, right? Which one again?” He asked, and Feliciano pointed happily to the one adjacent to the fridge, closed tightly. “Ah, thanks Feli! You’re doing a good job with hosting and morale here, you know, with all this going on. It’s really appreciated, I’m sure by everyone.”

Feliciano laughed, cracking an egg into the pan. “You can only do what you can do, right? I’ll do my best, but I’m really not doing too much at all. It’s you who bring it up, you and everyone else! It’s still good to be surrounded by friends, you know? Life is always better with people who care and want to be with you. You’ve got friends too, we’re all here together and it gives us a lot of time together. Oh, did you check the fridge to make sure no one took Lukas’ melon? He’s gonna be angry if any’s gone and-“

“Lukas committed suicide this morning,” Matthieu interrupted, crestfallen, “I don’t think he’s going to care too much about the melon now.”

If anything, getting all the hanging equipment up was one of the most difficult works yet for Feliciano, chances were he’d be taking a break for the rest of the day. There was no evidence in his direction, he’d be safe from being questioned about any of the happenings. Besides, with his carefree attitude, there was no reason to believe he’d be responsible for anything that had happened. It was even better if they all believed it was suicide, no one would even look into the case. He still pretended to look a little disappointed, brushing his auburn hair out of his eyes. “Oh… that’s too bad. I hope Matthias is okay.”

Matthieu shrugged, “Maybe he’ll come around eventually. It’s been a tough time for him, I think.”

“I hope he’s able to come around! He’s got that spirit in him, and if he’s with Gil, it’ll be alright! I just know it!”

  
  



	15. As Long As You Follow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, Milly here! So another posting of this crazy fic, I had no idea from the start that it'd get to 15 chapters which I'm honestly still surprised about, but here we are. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and the general trigger warning for dark themes and violence applies, although I'm guessing that if you've made it this far you probably already know that. I'm hoping to do more postings for this soon and get it wrapped up before the new school year but I guess we'll see how that goes! For now, I'll do my best to update frequently, and I hope you enjoy the 15th installment of this!

Peter landed with a hard thump on the end of Tino’s bed, eagerly looking up at him. “Read me a story!! C’mon, just one before I sleep, please?” he begged, tossing his hat up and in Tino’s direction. 

More than anything else, hearing the man’s soft voice was a comfort, especially in place of his father. Most of the evenings, Berwald sat beside Peter’s bedside, reading story after story until the boy fell into a sweet and sound sleep, and he could leave and go to bed. Taking care of him was a talent Berwald had, and it always made the nights a lot easier since there was rarely anyone else Peter would listen to - even Tino. However, something had changed when they came to this new place, and Peter listened more, he was quieter; almost to the point of being uncharacteristically so, but in some ways it was easier for a lot of the adults. Tino sighed, getting out of his bed where he’d been trying to read a PDF of a story on his phone. He liked reading well enough, and usually this time of night he’d be talking to someone and sharing a drink, but it was different from old times.

His shoulders ached as he followed Peter out of the room and into his and Raivis’, the light from the phone spilling out into the darkness of Matthias’ and his shared room. He’d forgotten to shut it off, but it didn’t matter, it was plugged in anyway and probably wouldn’t be running out of battery any time soon. He could hear the shower running in the bathroom just off of the kids’ room, and Tino took a seat on the edge of the bed, trying his best to look more welcoming for the boy. He smiled softly, turning to face Peter in the dim light of the room as the Sealandic shuffled under the covers, leaning up against the backboard. “Tell me a story!! Tell me a story!!”

Tino sighed, taking a moment. “Alright, I’ll tell you a story!”

“Yay!! Make it a good one! Or uh… tell me something about the others, like Papa or like… a time you had with Uncle Nor or Dan,” he smiled, “I’d like that.”

Tino cleared his throat - it’d be much easier to just recount a time he’d had with them before all of this had happened, even though it’d hurt remembering the people he’d loved and held so close to his heart. “Alright, I’ll tell you a story. This one takes place about a year ago, we had you but I don’t think you were here when it happened, you might’ve been staying over at Alfred’s.”

“Oh, I think I remember that! Alfred’s a lot of fun to play with, more than you!” Peter laughed, “But-“

“Shhh sh, you have to be nice and quiet for me to tell you the story,” Tino put a finger to his lips, leaning down to pet Peter’s hair out of his eyes, the sound of the shower still running contentedly in the background of the little tableau, “So this was when you were with Alf for the week. The other five of us were on this cruise - y’know, to get time together, it had been a lot of work for everyone and we’d all gotten a few days off from our bosses. I think Matt- oops, your Uncle Den, he got the boat and everything, but only Lukas knew how to drive it - meaning he had to be up and awake a lot of the time driving it. So there was this one night it was really quiet on the boat, and your Uncle Den - he wanted to play a trick on Lukas. So he got Emil to smuggle two of these plastic, screechy recorders - you know the kind, right?”

Peter nodded, his eyes wide with excitement. Tino helped him under the covers a little bit more, the more he could get the boy lying down, the easier it would be to ease him into sleep. “Alright, so close your eyes and pretend you’re on the boat,” he said, and Peter obeyed, the boy’s eyes shutting with a faint smile on his face, “So there we were, Nor piloting at night and your Papa and I talking together, Uncle Den with Emil. So he got those recorders, and stood right behind the door, opening it a tiny bit - nothing too much, y’know? So Nor wouldn’t see - and he blew so hard into them - and then Nor screamed and nearly piloted us into one of the large rocks sticking up from the water,” Tino started laughing before snapping back to his more sober looking state, “That’s when we had to hop into life vests and get back on the boat and go back to the shore. Emil fell into the water too, he was soaking from head to toe and Lukas thought he was gonna catch a cold - you know how overprotective he is, right?”

Peter nodded, eyes wide, and Tino smiled and continued on with the story, “He was freaking out big time! Lukas, that is, except he kept pretending he didn’t really care what was happening. Then the boat got lost and it took us a few extra days to find our way back to one of the ports, y’know? We even had to catch some fish out there on the boat!” Tino stared off into the distance, a wistful look in his eyes as he thought back, signing happily at how it hadn’t been too bad, not all bad. A time with all of them together. They’d gotten off the boat one by one; Berwald first to make sure everyone was set in the docking, then Lukas, then Tino, then Matthias, and lastly Emil.

“So that’s why you were so late picking me up from Alfred’s?” Peter asked, his eyes closed as he spoke.

“Mhm. It would’ve gone a lot faster had Matthias not tried that prank, but things happen, and that’s how life goes. You win some, you lose some. Matthias won that battle, and then we all lost the next.”

“I think I’m ready to sleep now,” Peter murmured, and Tino could hear the sound of the shower finishing up, which meant that sooner than later Raivis would be coming out of the shower and getting into the little bed beside Peter’s.

Tino nodded and stood up, watching Peter through the crack in the door until it was no greater than a few centimeters. “Good night, my angel.”

He shut the door entirely and pressed his hand against it, wandering across the hallway into the little room he’d set up to share with Matthias. His heart ached a little to the point where there was an obvious pang in his chest as he remembered those times - they hadn’t even been so long ago - and yet it felt like an eternity pass. He yearned to return back to the point in which they were all together again, even just joking around before people had died and this division had spread, people only talking to certain others whom they trusted. It was no way to run a successful household, but then again, there wasn’t much they could do with a murderer on the loose. “How are you doing, Matt?” Tino asked, sitting on the side of the bed which used to be Matthias; the Dane had taken Lukas’ side in his memory.

“I miss him,” he sighed, staring at the wall where his battle axe used to be, “Why’d he have to kill himself? He seemed so sure, so confident that he’d get out. Well, not exactly, but he did seem certain that he wouldn’t leave me alone like this. I- I can’t believe he’d just kill himself, that isn’t like him. It’s wrong! He didn’t!”

Tino patted Matthias’ shoulder, not entirely sure of what to do. Right now, his first priority would be to comfort the Dane, although he didn’t know how well he could even do that. “You saw it; we all did. How would someone have gotten him up there anyway?” he asked, then realized he wasn’t exactly helping the cause as much as he thought he would. “Besides, it’s going to be alright. I’m still here; it’s been nearly a week without Ber. Yeah, I miss him, but there’s more to life than just… Lukas.”

“You don’t understand!” Matthias growled, jumping straight to Tino’s face before retreating and sitting back down on his side of the bed, crunched up in a little fetal ball, “It’s different! Leave me alone now, I’m going to sleep!”

The Finn shook his head, rolling over into the other side of the bed and doing his best to push aside the outburst. In the room next to theirs, with Matthieu and Arthur, they could hear the Dane’s angry shout although they couldn’t understand his words or fully know what he’d meant to say. “Arthur? Are you going to sleep now? I think they’re quiet over there,” Matthieu murmured, not quite wanting to look over at the Brit. 

The other man’s state had been declining over the past few days, the time dragging on. A large portion chalked up to the weight on his conscience over Francis’ death; whenever he closed his eyes being able to see the iridescent image of the man he’d known so well’s face ingrained forever in his memory. It wasn’t an accusing face and it wasn’t a frustrated one, but it looked at Arthur with an expression of respect and benevolence which made Arthur feel even worse. His sleep had become less and less, bags growing under his eyes. There existed only so many times he could insist to himself that he didn’t care, that Francis meant nothing to him. Just another stupid wanker frog. The most unfortunate part of this was every time Arthur thought of him like that, one word changed. He wasn’t ‘another’ frog, Francis was his frog. Arthur swallowed hard. “Yes, I’m going to sleep. Right now. Given they stop shouting.”

Matthieu shrugged, turning over his bed to be facing away from the Brit, looking at the floral yellow wallpaper which had been tastelessly chosen for the room, giving it an overall vapid feel he wasn’t fond of. “They’re probably done fighting. Just sleep now, you need it, please?”

With a grunt, Arthur closed his eyes and drifted into a dreamless sleep, the only thing he could picture being Francis looking down on him angelically. His stomach hurt, cramping up uncomfortably which caused him to switch up positions every several minutes, making the sleep even more uneasy. About four hours into this, a banging noise came from down the hall. Arthur blinked, his eyes bleary with the lack of light. Matthieu was still sleeping soundly, his eyes shut and his expression blissful. Arthur groaned again, standing up to go investigate alone. His head ached from the general lack of sleep, and he stumbled into the hallway in his pajamas. Typically Arthur was a stickler for a good and fresh appearance, but those metrics had slipped over the past couple days and he looked messier than had ever happened. “Anyone there?” he asked, listening again for the sound.

It was coming from up the stairs, on the third floor, he decided. Arthur looked around, taking his pick of a broom lying in the hallway before confronting the noise. With a murderer somewhere, the chances that whomever - or whatever - it was had some kind of danger associated with their person was high. On the other hand, he could completely be imagining it, but it was better safe than sorry. Arthur listened again, blinking to try and clear off the hardened yellow crust patches at the corner of his eyes which had formed up as he slept. That would help him see better at the very least. In fact, this was all probably his imagination, nothing of substance. There was no one in their right mind who would be up and at them this time of night, he decided. Everything was a little bit fuzzy, and Arthur yearned for light despite the fact that he didn’t want to turn on any to wake other people up. 

Arthur had reached the top of the stairs, his heart pounding. If there was something up there - and almost no doubt, there was - it had footsteps and a scraping noise. It became progressively louder, the noise burrowing into Arthur’s eardrums, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to return back to the second floor or to leave. No, he had to investigate first. Before anything else. With the tip of the broom, he pushed open the first door, a little cleaning supplies closet. Nothing.

The Brit made his way silently to the next door, the one to the fated Red Room. The scraping noises had grown, burrowing their way into Arthur’s fading confidence and sanity. He pushed the top of the broom against the highest panel on the door, letting it fall open to reveal whatever the sound was. In the corner of the room there appeared to be someone, hunched over. Instead of going back, Arthur took a few more steps into the room, his face twitching marginally as he shut the door behind himself, being fully immersed in the red glow of the place. “Who are you?” he asked, the man not flinching from his work.

There wasn’t a response. He watched as the man took what looked like a saw - although he couldn’t quite see in the light - and faced a body, taking one of the arms in his hands before beginning to slice down. The soft sound of blood gushing from the open wound could be heard, the man with the saw panting as he worked his way through thick, pulpy muscle and eventually hitting the bone and ligament connection with a dull thump. That’s when the sawing noise increased, the scrape of metal against bone and through blood as the man worked tirelessly, eventually getting down to the end and ripping the rest of the arm off of the body. He tossed it aside, the red liquid welling up at the bottoms of his pants and seeping up higher and higher onto his body. “Ve~ you don’t know who I am?” the man slowly pivoted until he faced Arthur, a dull smile on his face, “Don’t you know my name?”

“F-Feliciano?” Arthur breathed out the words, hardly thinking about what was happening, “It… It’s you?”

He glanced down at the body of Ludwig on the floor - or the amount of it which was still recognizable, naked and missing a leg and now an arm. His head had slumped over to the side, his throat slit and the sticky substance dripping down the side of his neck and onto the floor. Feliciano smiled sweetly, yet there felt something amiss, like he was hiding something. Arthur held his ground, moving his eyes up from the corpse to meeting the Italian’s eyes, the broom readied by his side. Even though it would be easier - and smarter - to head back downstairs and get help or alert the others, Arthur felt glued to the room, hearing the room shut quietly behind him. “Of course it’s me, ve~” Feliciano laughed, “Nice job killing your… love - oh wait, he wasn’t, was he? ‘Cause you never told him!”

Arthur’s hands gripped even more tightly to the metal, his eyes narrowed into slits. “What are you talking about? I didn’t love that f-frog!” 

“Did and still do, ve~” Feliciano laughed again, holding the axe in his hand. 

The soles of Feliciano’s shoes were already becoming covered in the thick substance, and he shifted uncomfortably as he came to a place where he’d be less likely to slip. “I- I’ll bet you think you can kill me now,” Arthur muttered, refusing to look away from Feliciano.

“Think? Why think when I know?” Feliciano took a couple steps toward Arthur, holding his saw, “Go on. Run away, like I did so many times~”

Arthur shook his head before running forward, thrusting the broom at Feliciano’s chest, which he managed to dodge neatly. “You can’t get away with this,” Arthur parried again, trying to hit Feliciano as best he could, only nailing him once in the calf, “You’re a… m-murderer!”

Feliciano stumbled a bit, but quickly regained his balance, facing Arthur once more with the same sadistic grin on his face which he’d been wearing. In one side of the room were all the bodies he was already responsible for, and even more still which had been brought up and placed there until more could be done about finding them graves. The room already had a stench to it which nearly made it unbearable, and Arthur doubled over as he ran to Feliciano again, getting even closer to the piles of ready rotting flesh and blue faces without the light in their eyes, the world gone for so many already. Arthur held his breath, noticing with satisfaction the way Feliciano moved with a slight limp from place to place due to the one sound hit he’d gotten onto his leg. Arthur had nearly gotten the upper hand until he grew too close to the corpses and choked, the moment of involuntary stun allowing Feliciano an in to take a hit across the top of Arthur’s chest with the saw.

Arthur fell backwards, doing his best to lessen his fall with one arm although it just ended up twisting it at an angle. He cried out, fumbling for the broom as Feliciano grew closer. “Help! Someone!” Arthur cried out, “It’s Feliciano! He’s the murderer! Help!”

With one final bout of strength, Arthur parried another hit to Feliciano’s chest, and the Italian only moved back slightly before continuing and moving forward on his attack. He sliced just below Arthur’s rib cage, and again the Brit cried out, hoping someone - anyone - would come to his rescue. He grabbed Feliciano’s other hand with his still good arm and fought to bring it to his mouth, taking a bite as hard into it as he could. It was already getting harder to move with the cut, which had gone through the base of his lung making breathing harder by the second. Feliciano yelped out in surprise but quickly pulled his hand away, the red marks left not enough to stop his attack, merely delay. “They can’t hear you,” Feliciano panted, “The doors have all been- soundproofed- ve~? This is it.”

“Then kill me,” Arthur smiled, his lips quivering up in a distorted version of the sarcastic smile he wore on rare occasions. He started to laugh, the sound wild and accompanied by him wheezing slightly. The pupils in his eyes had shrunken, an imminent crazy look to them. “C’mon. Do it! Kill me!”

He laughed harder, watching Feliciano draw back for a second with surprise before working his way down to the place which hadn’t been slit under the other ribcage and making a new mark, this one deeper than the other. He shook his head, coughing slightly on the blood which had made its way up to his throat. “One more cut,” he laughed, spitting out little droplets onto Feliciano’s sleeves and his own chest in between the rises and falls of his chest. Feliciano shook his head, but with his non-bent arm, Arthur pointed to the line across his throat. The Italian sat down on his pelvis, looking down at the Brit beneath him with malicious intent, “One more cut right here. Do it. Do it, you cunt!”

Feliciano blinked once before drawing the edge of the blade across the side of Arthur’s neck, making it not too deep. He’d already won, and this had to be nice and slow. With Arthur’s raucous laughter in the background, slowly fading out, Feliciano turned over to Ludwig’s body and continued cutting the limbs off like he’d been doing, preparing to stuff them away or maybe make them into the German sausage Gilbert loved so much - except he’d love this one extra; the most authentic German sausage possible. Feliciano smirked, pleased with himself as he ripped the next arm off, the sound like tearing fabric as it pulled the flesh apart, the little ribbons of vein still somewhat intact and a little bit more difficult to pull on, although that didn’t stop him. All he’d need was one limb, Ludwig was pretty muscular and there were only so many guests left to feed. Feliciano considered trying a bite until he realized it probably wouldn’t taste too good, at least if it were the uncooked variety like the one he had. 

The Italian mopped his brow, clearing his face a little bit. Of course they’d come looking for Arthur, but he was long gone, that was it. It was like he’d had a death wish or something, no more desire to keep on keeping on. Arthur listened to Feliciano’s work, but the sound was fading from his line of perception. It was all his fault, his fault for killing Francis, his fault for coming. He deserved to die - and as much as he hated to, with Alfred gone and his love, what was the point? He closed his eyes, the pain overwhelming, but it wasn’t like he wanted it to go away. He just wanted to be gone, as fast and soon as possible. Arthur’d fought for what he could, and left some mark on Feliciano - a limp, some teeth marks - better than many others had done. If it wasn’t obvious by now to the rest who the culprit was, then Arthur didn’t know what to say.

Feliciano had finished, tucking the limbs neatly into a little paper bag and then leaning Ludwig’s torso against it, his head severed and already in the bad. He lamented the messy look of everything, but it’d have to do. On the way out, he kicked Arthur, hearing the slight British whine emit from the man before smirking and heading down to shower up and hop back in bed with his husband.

The sun had risen several hours after the event which had transpired over the evening. Raivis blinked in the sunlight, the children having one of the largest rooms comparable to any of the adults. Not only that, but it provided a more than ample amount of sunlight to wake them up right on time, as some of the first people in the house. “Hey Peter, are you ready for another day?” he asked, treading softly across the room to poke the little Sealandic on the cheek to wake him up. 

Peter sat up in bed, glaring at Raivis until he realized who it was. “Oh, I thought you were one of my parents or something,” he laughed, “Good morning! Any change? Can we get out of here yet?” Peter didn’t have too many complaints, but mainly because he’d been sheltered from everything happening by the adults. No one wanted him to know and to hear it all, so while Raivis knew the majority of the happenings, Peter didn’t. It had barely even hit him that his father was dead, let alone over half the household.

Raivis shook his head, sitting down on the bed beside Peter. “No, they haven’t done anything yet. I’ll bet more people are gonna be gone or something, it keeps happening all the time. But it’s all just a game to you, isn’t it?” he asked, slightly frustrated although not wanting to push it. It did always seem a little difficult when the one he spent so much time with couldn’t see everything happening, each day just more time to play games and goof off, but Raivis understood, in his own way. “Look, it’s fine. We can play more today, there’s not much to do anyway.”

“Can we make cookies? Or… or popsicles?” Peter asked, looking playfully up at Raivis.

The Latvian gave a short smile before standing up and starting to get dressed behind the bathroom door, leaving it ajar so they could still talk while he took care of everything. “Yeah, why not?” He pulled off his shirt, neglecting to undo the buttons. He was already thin enough that undoing them wasn’t exactly a demand, but it could help sometimes so he didn’t damage the neck of the shirt pulling it over his head. The only difference was some days Raivis cared and other days, he didn’t. After that, it was a matter of pulling on his usual plaid shirt for the day and a pair of more casual shirts. Peter had rolled back over into the bed, already trying to fall back asleep. He probably would’ve gotten to it as well had there not been the shriek down the hall for “we need to call another meeting!”

Another voice could be heard in the corridor, this time Gilbert’s. “What is it this time?” he rolled his eyes, already slightly numb to the happening. It was one thing after another, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t started to have it all wash over him, out of sight, out of mind. It was like that for many of the people, especially those who had been harder affected. After seeing Feliciano and his brother the day before, Gilbert had numbed out, hardly anything more than a glorified zombie going through the day like a knife through butter. He hated it, and yet he didn’t care at all, both feelings fighting within his mind. It would be settled at some point, although at this moment that point was undetermined. “Another person gone?”

“Yeah,” Matthieu replied, looking at Gilbert’s bedhead for a moment before getting his things together, “Arthur’s gone. He’s kind of been slipping this whole week, I was worried about him… I’m not too surprised, I just hope he’s alright.”

Gilbert grimaced, “If there’s one thing we’ve learned, when something or someone’s missing, it usually stays that way,” he swallowed, “but no matter, we might find Arthur anyway. Who knows?”

“I mean, I don’t see it happening too much, if I’m being honest,” Matthieu murmured, and Gilbert turned to face him with reasonable shock on his face, “Arthur was losing it. Each day he talked less and less, he cried himself to sleep this one time - and that’s just from what I saw. If the murderer got him, that’s one thing… but I wouldn’t be too surprised if he did something himself. I’m hoping he didn’t, really I am. He wouldn’t take the comfort or anything; I don’t think what happened with Francis was his fault either. He just thinks it is because it’s easier to take the blame or to blame other people. I just… I think we should look for him or something, even if all we get is a body it’ll still be worth something, right?”

The Prussian yawned, “Along with him… who else? We’ve already been missing Lin, Ludwig’s-“ he choked up for a second before going on, “he’s gone, Ivan’s missing, Alfred’s still kidnapped but I can’t imagine he’s still alive at this point… we missing anyone else? So many have gone - if you catch my meaning, what do we expect to do about it? We’ve searched before and again and-“

“We broke up the groups last time, and Lin went looking for Feliciano. We endanger ourselves by splitting up like that, don’t you know it? D-a-n-g-e-r, we have to stay together. Everything only happens because someone’s gone off on their own or been left alone. Except we don’t know what happened with Arthur, but like I said, I’m not sure it was just the murderer’s fault. Ludwig went off with Feliciano and he- you said he was gone, right? Yes. Okay- so he went off with Feliciano and then Ivan just left- hey, two of those people went off with Feliciano - and guess who’s still here?”

Gilbert bit his lip, glancing back to the bedroom and his sleeping husband, still curled up in the bed, his hair a mess on the pillows. “No, not him. He’s so weak, I can’t imagine him doing any of this- besides, he lost Lovi too, if he was the killer would he really have killed his own brother? Or…” for a moment, Gilbert’s mind flickered back to what he’d seen the day before, but soon enough the memory was gone again, back to suppression, and he stared at Matthieu with a blank gaze in his eyes. The sickly stench of blood and semen, his brother’s clothes on the floor and Feliciano, that demonic smile on his face as he pushed again and again into his dying brother without a regret. It was gone. All of it, faded and gone away again. “N-no. He wouldn’t. No.”

“You’re sure?” Matthieu asked, staring into the room behind the albino before noticing the fear in his expression, “I’m sorry for asking- that was an intrusive question, I apologize.”

“It’s alright,” Gilbert murmured, trying to bring back the sudden memory he’d had but to no avail, “The important thing now is to try and get out of here.” “How do you suppose we do that?” Matthieu asked, heading for Feliciano’s bedroom to wake him up for breakfast, “Meetings and searchings only go so far, and clearly whomever is doing all this knows what they’re doing. It’s planned - er, maybe it isn’t, but so far nothing’s been obvious. Do we meet again? Maybe Nguyen figured out how we can honor some of the fallen within these past few days, we could hold a little something today if she’s got it. And- how many are left…?”

“Eight. There’re eight of us.”

“God-“ Matthieu paused from talking to Gilbert, trying to think about how only eight people could be left. It seemed unbelievable at best, although everything pointed to it being the case - which he didn’t like, but there wasn’t so much either of them could do about it. “Only eight? You had so many people here that first night- and it’s slipping, one by one… in a few days, two weeks. Two weeks and we’ve only got eight.”

“Yeah.” Gilbert replied softly, heading in to kiss and wake his husband as he gestured for Matthieu to wait outside for him.

Matthieu kept talking, finally no longer ignored by someone. “Whatever we do, we’re going to have to do it soon before that eight drops to a number even lower.”

  
  
  



	16. Let Me Down Slowly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright this chapter's shorter than the others have been, but given the length of this story so far and the fact that this is kind of a filler, I think it's justified! I hope you guys enjoy this next section, nothing too graphic here although it's not exactly "light", it's probably some of the "lightest" material you'll find here (arguably so). Not too many characters left, so we'll have to see how this plays out! I hope this has been an enjoyable story for you all so far, and fingers crossed this chapter will be good!

The leaves rustled in the wind outside the house, a faint draft slipping in through the window. It was the only ventilation in the large attic, but Feliciano cherished it as he sat, staring out at the yard below. They’d eat well tonight - preferably a special brand of sausage, if he got everything set up properly. Genuine German sausage was one of Gilbert’s favorite things, and Feliciano came to like it as well. No one would have to know how exactly it had been obtained, but there would be more than enough for everyone. Feliciano smiled, a calm he hadn’t felt in a while washing over him. There was more he wanted now; they all had to go. This was going to be fun.

From the bottom of the stairs in between the bedrooms, Peter could still hear Raivis counting. “Desmit… Devini…”- he had to find a hiding place, a good one, and fast.

Peter stared at the top of the stairs, only the red room, the closet, another place and the ladder to the attic facing him. He bit his lip, his little pale blue eyes shifting from one place to the next, trying to spot out where the best spot to hide would be. He’d never been up to the attic before, so there was a chance that it would be the safest and cleverest hiding place. Peter giggled and scampered up to it, his hands grasping strongly around the splintering oak, easing his way up without a second thought. The ladder had been designed to have the older appearance, like something Alfred would have had leading up to a hay loft. Peter liked it and the aroma which accompanied it. He brushed away his dirty blond bangs with one hand before making it up the rest of the way. 

Feliciano exhaled, hearing the quick footsteps behind him. Eager. Willing. This wouldn’t do at all. How could he take out someone who he already knew was strong - Feliciano had watched Peter throw a tantrum over not being allowed a cherry milkshake - and the aftermath was dents in the tile floor. Feliciano had stared down at it in dismay, wishing that the kid hadn’t the strength to practically rip holes in the floor. It might be jeopardizing. Feliciano thought for a moment, knowing that if he were to act on anything, he’d have to be quick. The attic was wide open, only a couple of beams holding everything up surprisingly effortlessly. It was comfortable, the wood everywhere in the rustic look. Even if there wasn’t much furniture except for a carpet at the far end and a couple of boxes which had yet to be unopened, Feliciano liked the feel. In the blink of an eye, he’d worked his way over to the ladder, sitting at the top of it.

The design of the attic entrance had been a trap door which stood about ten feet high, in the ceiling of the end of the hallway. It was perhaps a square meter large, the ladder vertical - meaning that any person interested in climbing it would have to use the little brass handles on either side of the entrance on the floor of the attic to pull themself the remainder of the way up. Peter, blissfully unaware of this, had made his way up nearly to the top before he met the rubber sole of Feliciano’s boot. “Heyyy Uncle Feli- I really need to get up there to hide. Let me let me let me let me-“

“No.”

Peter punched the side of the ladder. “No fair Uncle Feli!! Raivis is gonna come and he’ll find me and I’ll lose the game! Just let me get up!”

Feliciano frowned before reverting back to his smile. He raised one leg as if to begin to make room, shifting over on the wood and Peter made it up another rung expectantly. “No. Stay down-“ Feliciano shifted his weight back, planting the heel of the shoe firmly in the little boy’s face.

The reaction was instantaneous. The dull sound of the back of Peter’s head bashing into the floor, the eager notion of his eyes wearing out. The small spill of blood was sudden, a little bit dribbling down the front of the kid’s face - he’d have a black eye, almost definitely. Feliciano slipped back to the windowsill, still staring out like some kind of animal anxious to view the outside world. There were a couple of rabbits scampering around in the yard and the cars everyone had driven happily over in. 

Raivis stopped counting, instead giving up to rush over to the young Sealandic propping himself up, trying to wipe the blood off of his face. It was in vain; enough had already spilled down the front of his blazer to make it obvious that something had happened. “Peter? Peter!! Sit up! Ak, mans dievs are you alright?? What happened?”

“I dobt rebeber-“ Peter had already started to cry, the tears trickling down the sides of his face. It hurt, and yet there was something he couldn’t quite place - the last thing he remembered being the jolty run out of Raivis and his room just to get to somewhere good to hide and- “I dobt rebeber how I got here- I think I was trying to hide or clib or sobthing-“ he wiped his nose again on his sleeve, trying to breath and speak more clearly, “I wabt to go find by bob!”

Had anything been the finest bit clearer, the strange thick voice which Peter now had - which wasn’t his - would have bothered his endlessly. He wanted Tino, wanted to be taken care of. Raivis grabbed onto the white fabric around his elbows, hauling him up to start heading for the downstairs. The ladder was easy enough to fall on - unanchored to the floor and splintering; not the best design by any means - and so there was no second thought as to how Peter had gotten injured. In the sobbing mess he was, Peter vaguely remembered his father’s warning as they explored through the house, learning more and more about each of the little rooms and their set purpose, how Feliciano and Gilbert had worked practically tirelessly to set everything up. “Don’t go up th’re Peter,“ Berwald had warned, “You’ll g’t a scolding from me ‘nd who knows wh’t else. I l’ve you, don’t want m’son getting hurt.”

Peter had nodded along, secretly making plans to go up there anyway. Even if his parents did care for him and almost always did know the right thing, there was nothing in his way from doing whatever he felt like in the long run. Feliciano perked up an ear, inching towards the doorway until the din had faded out completely, no one the wiser with what he’d done. It would make it all easier without that kid meddling, getting in the way of everything with his little metal punches. That was the only downside of having a guest made of concrete, but then again, he hadn’t premeditated all this to the point before everyone came - not consciously, anyway.

Feliciano clicked his fingernails against the little wood windowsill before standing up and making his way down the ladder. There was a small puddle of blood at the base, but he neatly made his way around it, heading into the red room with his head held high. There was everything he’d need for dinner - and more. The large black bag Feliciano had stuffed Ludwig’s limbs into sat in the back of the room behind the other corpses, lying against the cabinet. It hadn’t been refrigerated, but Feliciano sniffed at it once before determining it edible. It would support itself, and although not the most alimentary, it would still have the flavor to it. If anyone, he could be certain Lukas wouldn’t mind - had he still been alive, that was. Any man willing to eat Gilbird and determine he just needed a wee bit more salt was more than definitely cut out for the most unadulterated definition of German sausage to possibly exist.

* * *

Back on the ground floor, Tino welcomed a sobbing child into his arms, his lips parted in a shocked expression. “Oh my god- Raivis, what happened? Did you do this? Did someone else do this? What happened? Is he okay? Is he- Peter, speak to me! What happened?”

“I dobt bow-“ Peter’s shoulders rose up to either side of his face, the red from his nose spilling out onto the jacket Tino had picked out for the day, but he didn’t give it a second thought. The boy was more important than a simple stain. “I just fell frob the attic-“

“Didn’t your father tell you not to go up there?” Tino pulled Peter’s snotty face away from him, searching for an answer with anxious eyes before pulling his son back to him, in for another hug. “Oh it doesn’t matter now, just take a breath alright? You look like you broke your nose or something- Matthias?”

The Dane laughed before being silenced by the Finn’s demonic glare of frustration, quickly turning back to the somber position he’d been holding with his beer. “Yeah, I’ve broken mine a lot. For sure, it looks pretty bad but we’re countries. We heal up really the nice!” he gave a little pained smile, taking another sip at his beer, “Hey there, stop crying, it’ll be okay. We can build legos-“

“Oh my god, you brought fucking legos?” Tino demanded, his face exasperated as he ran his fingers through Peter’s hair. “I thought we agreed no legos!”

“I’m DANISH. I am the LEGO KING. Of course I brought legos!”

Tino shook his head, shushing Peter’s helpless sobs. “Fine. You’re even worse than he is, demanding to bring all his pokémon cards for training. The two of you! Kids!”

“I’b good now baba!” Peter hopped down off Tino’s lap, dusting his hands on his pants - yet another part of the outfit ruined with stains, “Uncle Deb can we play legos and trade Pokébon?”

“I didn’t bring my Pokémon cards but I’ve got the legos! I’m the LEGO KINGGGG~” Matthias sang, the two of them running off in the direction of the upstairs.

Tino sighed, standing up to get the sun out of his eyes. His agile fingers started work on undoing his buttons until he could cast off the jacket, letting the cooler air run over the newly exposed parts of his arm. Gilbert watched from the side, tousling up his own stark white hair to make it just the tiniest bit more unruly than it already was. The men were drunk enough for this day, the time slipping by everyone - especially the more they could work their way into the drunken haze. Tino sighed. Maybe this time, Matthias would take care of the kid instead of just goofing around. He could get him set, wash off the snot and blood and tears, get him to change up the clothes he’d bled so reverently over - sometimes the smallest actions meant the most. “Do you have any more of that beer or something else? Anything? Just… alcohol-“ Tino practically breathed out the words, his chest aching, “I need it-“

“Yeah, I got you bro,” Gilbert wandered over to the kitchen, yanking on the cabinet to reveal a few bottles, one of which he took down off of the shelf and passed to his parched friend, “Here. It’s an awesome Prussian one, I’ve been saving these for a good time-“ he faltered, “Or when they’re needed! Needed now! Take!”

Tino laughed. “Thanks. You’re the best. You and Matthias and Nguyen and Peter and Raivis and Feli and - ha, that’s all the people left!”

* * *

Peter had made his way up the stairs, as if the simple mention of legos had revived him to the point of being back to his normal chipper self, although something wasn’t quite right there yet. Matthias felt a weight about him, even as he laughed and spilled beer - he was the king of them. The king of the others - Berwald, Tino, Lukas, Peter and Emil. As close to a family as he’d ever have, they were it. Even outside of this place, they visited each other’s houses and played games together. Close. It was more of a unanimous decision that he was the leader - but united they’d stood, together they’d fall. With Emil out there, all alone, that made it worse. Lukas would’ve done anything to keep him safe, anything at all… but with him gone, Matthias had failed; he’d failed Berwald and Emil and Lukas and- “Ubkle Deb I cabt see out of this eye!”

The thoughts which had been flooding the Dane’s head stopped and he ruffled his nephew’s hair, dragging him over to the bathroom. “Here, y’know what? Before we play, I’ll clean you up a bit, help your tired ole’ mom out a little. He’s been through quite a bit and it’ll help him out. How do you feel about an eyepatch?”

“Ew! I don’t wabt one!”

“You’ll look like one of those awesome, bad-assy pirates…”

Peter scrunched up his nose. That would be like Arthur’s punk days - he’d seen photos of the man, his coat of arms and sword broad in the sparkle of sunlight. All that was locked away in a trunk somewhere in Arthur’s house now. Peter had found it once but had lacked the key, and Arthur threw a fit upon discovering he’d been found out. “Alright! I’b ib! Theb I’ll be cool like you, Uncle Deb!”

“You’ll be way cool!” Matthias laughed, his previous grievances all but forgotten, “Here, lemme find it!”

  
  
  



	17. Slip Sliding Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!! I'm not dead yet lol, writer's block just kicked in and so I got this chapter in late. The future ones will have a better schedule, since I do have everything else planned out (for the most part). Thanks to my best friend, Azu, for all her help for this! She's got some of the best angst planning of anyone I know :) I hope y'all stick with me for the end of this madness, and thank you for sticking with me so far!! 
> 
> Milli out!

The afternoon had come and gone, the swift cloak of the night wrapping its way around the villa. It was cloudy out, not a star visible in the sky, but that didn’t seem to have much of an affect on anyone. It was quiet in the living room, Nguyen sketching up her plans in the corner for some form of honoring everyone. Peter sat on the floor, rolling a little wood car back and forth. It had been a gift from Matthias which he’d warned him not to let the boy bring along, but apparently no one listened. It was a moot point to argue, and Tino didn’t feel like getting into it. He had his feet kicked up on the immaculate marble coffee table, already wasted for the day. Something inside his heart told him it wasn’t the right approach, but Peter was too tired to act all crazy with the eyepatch and aching in the back of his head. 

Dried blood - not too much - had matted up his hair, staining it from the light blond to a darker strawberry blond, but it was another thing which would have to be washed out. Matthias could probably take care of it. There was a time when Tino wasn’t willing to let him do anything, but it wasn’t like he was in good enough shape to stop him. Besides, the Dane felt a little surge of protectiveness throb inside his heart looking over at the boy. Even if they came to the ends of the earth, he’d protect the child for all he was worth.

There was a sound of footsteps at the entryway, although barely anyone looked up. “Ve~ it’s dinner time, I made a special German sausage - almost like the kind you like, Gil-“ he waited to see the passive smile and slight change of his husband’s expression, “There’s that, and I also made a special Italian salad with Vodka dressing!”

At the mention of vodka, Raivis glanced up, a fearful tinge to his typically downcast expression. Where would any vodka have come from? He… he wouldn’t steal from- Raivis stopped himself, biting his tongue visibly. No one noticed. Gilbert stood up first, easing himself up off the floor beside where Tino was sitting. He too had a beer in hand, although he’d drunk less from it due to already being highly intoxicated. His knees felt unstable and shaky as he made his way over to the Italian, planting a firm but messy kiss on his forehead. Feliciano put out an arm, already prepared to stabilize his stumbling lover. There was a sinking feeling as his hazel eyes scanned over the dulled expressions. It was in the lull between that hunger and demand for power where he could feel the shame rise in him. What good would telling them all do? It was only a matter of time before that thirst would return, fire in his eyes and a plan on how to achieve what he wanted. Soon, very soon, it would just be him and Gilbert, together forever. Maybe it was that hope that he’d reach that point soon which kept him hanging on, letting the days pass like this as the hunger became more and more frequent.

As the last person in the room, Nguyen slipped her hand over the lights, shutting them off as she toted her little sketchbook along with her. The running idea was to find candles somewhere and make little alters, but with - how many? six? people left, she was beginning to doubt whether or not it was actually worth it. It would take them enough time unless all they did was light the candles, and she wasn’t convinced if that was the case. There were chairs and plates pulled around the island in the center of the kitchen, the authentic German sausage sitting out on a little plate, the salad beside it. “Feli, this doesn’t look like the stuff I brought with me-“ Gilbert slurred, picking up one of the pieces between his fingers.

“It’s not one you brought,” Feliciano laughed, “I brought it with me! It’s a special one and I wanted to surprise you-“ he couldn’t let slip how he’d actually gotten the sausage. That wouldn’t be right. Even the idea that it was his brother, the mere notion, could set everything out of whack. “Anyway, it’s not important, the spices are the important part! I hope you like it!”

Gilbert chewed and swallowed, letting the peppery taste which was so commonly found in the Italian sausages his lover shared with him savor in his mouth. Then again, there was something comforting and familiar about the taste that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. “I say it’s good!” the albino commented, picking up another one to make the point to Feliciano that he liked it. It took a faithful nod from the Italian for everyone else to reach in and start taking from the plate, loading up their own with hungry expressions. No one the wiser as to how it had all struck, everything falling into place just as he’d planned. The biggest thing was keeping it all obscured from Gilbert. Ignorance was bliss - Feliciano knew this from the days he’d been blissfully ignorant for - and it would only hurt the Prussian when he found it all out, reality crashing down on him. Feliciano bit his lip, looking at the faces of his guests, their eyes lit up in the dull light of the overhanging lamp. It would happen, there was no way he could keep Gil in the dark forever. Sooner or later, he’d see the bodies around him and ask why he wasn’t dead, remember what he’d seen when he walked into the bedroom with his husband startled over his brother. He wasn’t dumb.

After maybe three bites of the sausage, Peter pushed his plate away in disgust. “I’m not eating this!” he moaned, his nose scrunching up. He glared around the table with a single little blue slit. The taste wasn’t half bad, but more often than not he could bargain chocolate or something of the sort out of his mum or uncle. 

“Sit back down and enjoy dinner with us!” Matthias forced a little smile, the words wadding up at the back of his throat as he spoke, “C’mon, it’s a lot safer than going back into the other room. Besides, do you really want to sit there? Alone? In the dark? With no one by your side?”

Peter allowed the Dane to shove the plate back in his direction, scotching closer to the table as he went in for a little more, watching with a begrudging expression as Tino dumped a bit of the salad onto his plate, forgetting completely that it contained any vodka. It didn’t really matter anyway, it wasn’t so much vodka that it could intoxicate anyone. With an exhausted sigh, Tino edged back over to his own seat, back to eating the amount of food he’d taken - nothing more, nothing less. It was most appropriate to eat like that in his country anyway, being polite by eating everything he’d been given.

The meal finished up with the same levels of silence which had held firm for the rest of the day, only the smallest amounts of small talk being made between other’s watchful eyes. The amount of trust each held for the others was wearing thin, as if someone there was the culprit and no one else could identify who. The only one who remained out of the heedful gaze of the others was Feliciano, who had been humming silently to himself. In the other’s eyes, there was no way the host - friendly personality and absentminded tendencies - could possibly be behind the whole darker scheme. The only one who could have known denied what he knew. It was easier to be in the dark and to pretend there was no way out, because the same way Feliciano knew that ignorance was bliss, Gilbert practically breathed the turn of phrase.

Nguyen picked up her drawing pad, reading off of it with a dull glint in her eyes. “The idea is to light candles for everyone we’ve lost… y’know, to honor them. I mean, as of now, it’s only the seven of us.”

She set the paper down, everyone back to eating their foods without a thought to her suggestion. They also neglected the fact that she’d forgotten the eighth person - Matthieu - as he usually got overlooked. He wasn’t the most stand-out human to the point where he was either mistaken for Alfred or just overlooked entirely. There was nothing wrong with his brother, but there was something to be said for being recognized for himself. He did want to honor those who had fallen though, so with a silent promise to himself, he agreed to hunt down some candles in the house and light up some kind of little shrine. It wouldn’t be hard to sit and watch the candles flicker down.

Matthieu sighed, eating a few final bites with the sausage before standing up, the ceramic plate in one hand. “Hey, anyone mind if I go up to my room?”

Feliciano noticed, but no one said anything. There wasn’t anything that needed to be said. Had it been anyone else, a quick reminder to bring someone with them would have come in. There was a certain melancholy which hung over everyone, a thickness in the room. “Alright, I’m going,” Matthieu murmured, but no one heard again, “Bye.”

A part of him felt frustrated. There was no one there who cared what happened. Feliciano turned, watching as Matthieu left the room, a little smile on his face. There had been a heaviness in his chest as he watched Peter eat, the remnants of dried blood on his cheek just below the area of the patch which pressed into his face. Matthias patted him on the back, moving in to give the boy a little hug. He pressed his cheek against the sweaty blond head, and out of some strange act of fate, Peter didn’t move. “Hey, you’re doing well, buddy~ you’ve got this! How does your eye feel?”

“Uncle Mat, do we have to talk about it at dinner?” he asked, but it wasn’t in the whiney, stubborn way it used to be.

There was a little more tenderness in each of their voices, and Matthias gave a dry laugh before pulling out of the way. “We don’t. I just… wanted to make sure, that was all. If it’s good, then we can keep eating.”

Peter glanced up, a shimmer of light in his eyes. Saying what he wanted to wouldn’t work. There was a certain need for Matthias to remind him that of everyone, there wasn’t so much he had left. Tino was a nordic - sure - but he didn’t share the old days with Berwald, Lukas, and Matthias. He wasn’t brought up like Emil was. Peter was different, as Berwald’s adopted son. Matthias closed his eyes for a second, hearing the little voice beside him. “Yeah, it’s good. Thanks though.”

Matthias breathed in, hoping nothing would happen to this child. He’d already gone through enough, his bruised up face, but why go through more? Nguyen finished, carrying her plate into the kitchen before turning about face and heading back to the living room. With a deft hand, she flicked the light switch. The room lit up instantly, messy as it had been left. With a silent but graceful air, Nguyen sat down, propping her feet up to think. The side of her head ached, but she hadn’t said a word about it to anyone. 

The Vietnamese girl pressed a hand up to her temple. It hadn’t been so long that Lin had gone missing. Nguyen was the rational type, she knew when someone was likely to be dead, and it didn’t take a genius to tell her that her love had gone to meet her maker. The one thing she hoped - hoping with all her heart as she sat there, mulling over the situation - was that Lin knew she loved her. That night with the drinks, Nguyen remembered every second. She remembered the disproportionate lack of control over her limbs as she forced herself onto the other girl. There was screaming too, but Nguyen had thrust her hand over Lin’s lips, just enough to see the fear in her eyes. Her hands shook just reminiscing, the awful pit at the bottom of her stomach pulling down on every fabric of her existence. Lin didn’t have it easy.

In Nguyen’s mind, if anyone should be dead now, it shouldn’t be Lin. It should have been her. If it had been her, no one would have cared. Lin had friends, family - a life. That was more than Nguyen could ever say she had. She exhaled through her teeth, the sharp feeling of air pressing it’s way down, against her bottom lip. She couldn’t bring Lin back, never would be able to. 

There were footsteps in the doorway, and she looked up. “Nguyen- are you alright?” the soft Latvian’s voice hit dull against the silence.

She shrugged. He was a new person, and she didn’t really talk to people all that much. He seemed shy enough too, a little too shy to do anything. “I’m fine,” she replied coarsely, a sharp look in her eyes directed at the child. Nguyen didn’t mean to come off as harshly as she did most of the time, but sometimes it was inevitable.

“If you need anything… just ask…” he said, sitting down in the chair across the table from her. It was true, they didn’t talk much, but he was still kind when there was the need for someone to step in. Raivis cared. Behind him was Peter, who normally would have been begging to play a game. However, this time he’d brought the Dane with him, who was quite cheerfully following. It wasn’t the kind of cheerful where nothing seemed wrong, but rather the kind that was willing to accept it for the moment and get on with life. They sat down too, next to the pile of legos which had been sitting on the floor since before dinner.

Matthias started building a little structure. There was a difference between how everything had been at the beginning. Instead of an increased sense of urgency - which would have been expected - there was more of a demand to make everything meaningful. Matthias didn’t want to wake up the next day with everyone gone, or perhaps never waking up and being gone himself. It hurt. At least there was still time. Time for what, he didn’t know, but it would be best to spend it in the company of his loved ones, before they were gone.

Back in the kitchen, Feliciano hummed as he put the dishes away. Everyone had headed into the room, as if there was no issue. Either people wanted to forget and so they ignored, or people had simply forgotten. It was better like that. The silence only reminded Feliciano of the harsh, grating feeling. It would have to abscond, to be played into action. 

Feliciano wiped his palms on the apron messily strung around his waist, untied it, and hung it up on the midsection of the oven to dry. From there, he stopped to listen. There were footsteps from above him, and relatively quickly he was able to latch onto who it was. The Italian bit down onto his lip, already heading for the stairs and making ready to take care of the main thing on his checklist - take care of the laundry.

* * *

The red light spilled out into the hallway, but Feliciano didn’t notice, the other bag he’d been intending to take already in his hand. It felt nice, the added weight - and while Feliciano wasn’t always one to like the comfort of weight, it had all been different lately. He sighed, wiping his free hand across his brow. It would be a little difficult to carry it all the way to the other side of the floor, where the washing machine was located, but it would still be doable. The floor was chilly against the bottom of his foot, and there was a little struggle with hauling the bag so none of it hit the ground. There would be a loud noise then, which might give everything away. 

He felt the back part hit the back of his knee, already feeling the weight weighing on him, but the hunger wouldn’t stop. It was something which wouldn’t be quenched by this little action, but there was always the chance out there that it would help. Feliciano looked behind him, seeing the face stare back at him, the blue eyes dulled. From the side of the head slipped the little hair clip which stayed there all the time. It had been one of Lukas’ favorites, a gift from Matthias years before they started dating. Back when they were just friends. Feliciano remembered the time too, but he hadn’t really associated with them at that point. Him and Lovino were still young - to be fair, Matthias and Lukas were young too - but Lovino lived with Antonio and Feliciano had lived with this man Roderich and his wife, Elizavetta. They weren’t perfect, but they were good enough. Fortunately, neither of them had decided to come. If Lovino was smart, Feliciano mused, then he wouldn’t have come either.

Feliciano had nearly made his way completely down the dimly lit hall. He could already hear the noise of Matthieu back in his room, taking care of something else. The Canadian wasn’t the kind to pry into other people’s business, Feliciano knew, and something told him that he’d be able to get away with what he was about to do.

Matthieu looked up, seeing the Italian’s face pass the door for a split second before walking away down the hall. He’d initially felt a rush of anxiety - what would happen if it was the killer - but no, just little Feli. He exhaled, relieved. There was nothing to be worried about. He wiped away a long strand of his blonde hair which had stuck to his sweaty forehead. The smoke and heat from all the little candles sitting around him had become problematic, but not too much. It was still there. The light from each candle lit up the darkened room a little more, until each had become embers in the presence of everything else. It was comfortable, and he liked it. The night fell early sometimes back at his house, in the winter. Around him wafted the scent of burning candles, the same way it felt when he had a birthday party and only Alfred and Kiku showed up - Francis too, when he was able to make it. A single tear dripped down his cheek, and Matthieu wiped that away too.

Feliciano glanced nervously behind him, and seeing that Matthieu hadn’t followed, he seemed content enough with going forward. The laundry room was right there, behind the door. With a final burst of strength, he powered through, shoving the door aside. The washer and dryer were there, both sitting next to each other. Him and Gilbert had picked out rather large ones which would be able to fit everyone’s laundry, and so it would most definitely fit everything in the sack.

With a firm hand, Feliciano lowered Lukas down to the ground. It would be easier to open everything once he had a free hand, which is what the Italian did. He yanked open the handle on the washer, and then picked up the limp body again in his arms. With another heave, he thrust it into the washer. 

The sound of the skull smashing into the back of it echoed in the tiny room, and slightly down the hall, Mattieu looked up from what he’d been doing. That wasn’t a sound which he was supposed to hear - nor expected, for that matter. He was about to stand up and investigate when it occurred to him that it might not be the best idea, and he sat back down, in the midst of all his candles.

Feliciano groaned, picking up the Norwegian’s bare legs in his hands. It would have been harder to wash him with the clothes on, anyways. It may have been difficult stripping him, but it was worth it for the level of ease he was faced with. Feliciano inhaled sharply before jamming him in the rest of the way, hearing the solid crack of bone against metal before his feet crossed the threshold, and Feliciano could safely say that he’d put all of Lukas inside. 

Matthieu shook his head. He’d have to see what was happening - maybe Feliciano needed help! Help was something Mattheiu was good at. He pulled on the doorknob, and found that easily enough, it entered in. His gaze fell upon Feliciano, wiping the blood off his hands and onto his apron. Matthieu’s jaw dropped, the Italian already pressing down the button to signal the wash cycle. “Y-you…”

“What?”

“W-who did you p-put in there?”

Feliciano’s eyes froze for a second, then his gaze melted. “Oh, you saw that?”

Matthieu shook his head in flustered terror. “Saw-w what? W-what was that? W-what did you do?”

There was an audible silence in the room, Mattheiu’s face growing redder and redder, his heart rate accelerating until it was pounding furiously in his chest. “You can’t have saw it!” Feliciano chirped, moving towards the Canadian, “You weren’t allowed to see it!”

“W-What are you going to do about it?” Matthieu asked, although with a grim twist in his stomach, he already knew, “You can’t erase my mind.”

“I can’t,” Feliciano smiled, “But I can destroy it. Now, are we going to do this the easy way, or the hard way?”

Mattheiu’s breath hitched, and he headed off down the hall. Feliciano laughed for a second before following quickly after. That was the thing everyone always forgot about him; compared to almost everyone else, he was incredibly fast. It used to only be a speed he could achieve when he was running away from other people, but that wasn’t the case anymore. He could speed along without a care in the world whenever he felt like it could benefit him, even if it landed others in trouble. He laughed, catching up easily and matching pace with the terrified Canadian within moments.

Mathteiu tried to run, but was more than easily tackled to the ground. He tried to cry out, already seeing the crazed nature of the Italian’s eyes, but felt hands around his through choking off his air. Only a small amount of the desperate cry escaped. He stared up at Feliciano, pleading with him. His face was already flushed bright red, his glasses cracked on the floor where they’d fallen. “You don’t have to~” he mouthed out the words, trying to get through to the Italian.

“You saw. You weren’t allowed to see,” Feliciano smiled again, but this time instead of the blithely ignorant expression was one with ferocity, “I can’t just let people break the rules with no punishment.”

“I didn’t know that was a rule~” Mattieu mouthed again, desperately trying to make his case. 

His face was growing redder by the moment, eyes bulging out of the sockets from the unruly amount of pressure being forced down on him. He gagged again, struggling for release, but Feliciano held fast. “You know not to look into other people’s business, ve~” he muttered, panting hard.

“I thought you needed help~”

“Well, I didn’t. And look where it’s gotten you. What would Lovi call you-? Oh yeah, a pancake bastard. Shut up, pancake bastard. Ve~ I could be nice… but look where nice gets you in life.”

Mattheiu broke down, tears and snot streaming down his face. Everything was growing dim, his chest constricting and lungs begging for air. “I can’t do this-“ he wept, the words only mouthed. Speaking was gone. It was all falling away so quickly, faster than he realized it would.

Feliciano lifted one hand, pushing Mattheiu’s head back with the other and holding it there, just enough for the Canadian to slip a breath. With the free hand, he punched down hard on the exposed area of the neck, watching as his victim slumped to the floor. The burden of power greed lightened up a little bit, and Feliciano dove back in, cradling Mattheiu’s face between his hands before popping it all the way backwards. The snap bounced down the hall, muffled from the downstairs. Feliciano stood up, leaving the body where it had been. “Another one down,” he smiled, “Only so many more to go.”


	18. Sweet Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Man, this hasn't updated in like a month (bad writer!!) but I finally think I've got a plan for the end of the story so you can be almost sure that this is going to be a finished work! Okay, so I was gonna update sooner but writers block and general start of online school kicked in and it didn't happen - which was a shame - but I have a writing schedule so this *should* be updating once a week for like four weeks if all goes well. I had fun with this chapter - only a little graphic hehe - but I hope you still enjoy!
> 
> If there's anything you'd like to see in future chapters, please feel free to leave a note! Anything is appreciated, and I'm happy to add things into the plans! <3 
> 
> Omd still can't believe this is the 18th!

An eerie silence hung in the halls as Feliciano strolled through them. A day had passed, so far no one was going into the washing room to investigate. There were rooms now, limits to where people could go. Gilbert didn’t want anyone straying too far, and Feliciano - still playing the role of a beguiling husband to the love of his life - agreed. Gilbert was the only who could never know of what had transpired. He wasn’t quick to blame, but Feliciano didn’t see himself being forgiven for this. It was that single fear which kept him hiding it all away from Gilbert, making sure he wouldn’t find out. Still, why didn’t the rest just leave? Did they seriously keep holding it out for Alfred? Feliciano bit his lip, thinking about the body in his tucked-away side room. No one would have to know - and no one did.

That day, he’d managed to do away with Nguyen too. Hers was a little less strenuous, leaving only the sad realization amongst everyone else of her having fallen, not showing up at dinner. That time it was less intentional, Feliciano simply found himself in the right place at the right time. It made sense - so little like everything else in life, and fitting that piece into the puzzle was just another quenching of the hunger within him. The demand for power overtook, and in one fell swoop she was gone, done. It astonished the quickly-diminishing sane part of his mind how ruthlessly he’d killed her, but then again, it was just another day.

For a second, he felt sick, the desire and thirst fleeting. His mind brimmed with thoughts of what he’d done - was it truly right, truly what he needed? Or just another thought in passing, something he should’ve ignored long ago. Footsteps could be heard on the stairs, and soon enough the light hair of Raivis had come into sight. “O-oh. Mr. Vargas? Do you need help?” he asked, rushing over to Feliciano’s side.

Feliciano got to his feet with a groan, a hand pressed reverently against his head. “Y-yeah, I’m fine. Go along now, kid.”

“No, you seem hurt,” Raivis held Feliciano’s arm, doing his best to support the man as he eased him through the halls, to his bedroom. “I’ll bring you to somewhere you can sit down or something. Did someone get to you?” his voice had a faint stutter, as if he was afraid. It took all Feliciano’s self-control not to scoff at it, the kid sounded straight up pathetic. 

Instead, he shook his head. “No, I’m fine. Just happens sometimes.” his strength was returning readily, and with a start, Feliciano remembered he couldn’t let Raivis into the room. Fresh blood stained the sheets still, something Gilbert had been pretending were just a part of the design of the sheets. “Don’t go in! No!”

“Is there something wrong with it?” the boy tilted his head. What could possibly be going on in Mr. Vargas’s mind? He hadn’t the foggiest idea.

Without a second thought, he pulled the man into the room. Feliciano’s arm shook, his eyes wide. He moved quickly, trying to cover it up with his body, but far too soon, Raivis’s eyes had made their way over, scanning the place. His jaw dropped, and far too soon, Feliciano knew it was too late. He whisked the boy into the room, hurriedly clamping his hand over the little mouth. Raivis gasped, grappling to try and grab the doorframe; anything to slow him down or stop the pull of the man from behind him. Light shone in Feliciano’s eyes, half of his face enshrouded in darkness. He wrapped his hands around Raivis’s neck, feeling his pulse under sturdy fingers. The boy gasped. “The others are following me up. They’ll see it’s you or I’ll tell them,” a tear slipped down his cheek inadvertently, but Raivis did his best to stay strong, “You’re done. It’s you, I know it is!”

“Who’ll believe you?” Feliciano swallowed, his throat dry. “I look so… innocent.”

Raivis didn’t answer, fighting the hands away from his neck. They turned from the bedspread, heading towards the closet. From the doorway, Feliciano heard a little, soft voice. “Mr. Vargas? Raivis? Is that you? What are you doing?”

Feliciano ground his teeth. It was no use staying silent, it was only a matter of time before the rest of them knew and his whole plan fell to shatters. “Peter? Are you sure you’re seeing right, with your eye all messed up?”

The boy shrugged his shoulders, making a move to the little plastic switch panel on the side of the wall. With a defiant move, he flicked it up. “I guess it is pretty hard to see with the light out. What are you guys doing in he-“ he stopped, looking at the situation. His eyes grew wide. “Raivis? W-what’s he doing to you? A-are you okay?”

“Get someone else,” Raivis let the words slip from his lips. He pulled down on one of the oversized curtains, hoping to slow Feliciano again. “I don’t know where the others are, but just… one adult and we can handle this. Quick! Go!”

“What about you?”

Raivis sighed. “Don’t worry about me, worry about you. Get out of here and find someone, now!” 

Peter scampered out of the door and down the hall. The first adult he could find, he’d get. He found Tino making his way up the stairs, and without a second thought he grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the top of the stairs. “Mama! I need your help with something, come right now! Raivis is in danger!”

Tino quickened his pace. “What’s happening? What’s going on?”

There wasn’t any response although Tino still took everything as though his son were the one in great danger. He hurried along, his senses keen as he searched for some semblance of explanation. Perhaps a sound or a smell, anything to ease along his work. He’d had a lot to drink that night, Gilbert and Matthias still downstairs catching up. Sleeping passed the time better for him anyway, a part of Tino still begging to meet his husband on the other side already. The world was lonely, and although he kept telling himself that he could get over it, the time seemed endless. Wake up. Drink. Cry. Watch Peter. Sleep. Repeat. Again and again. Day after day. Time passed only marginally faster in his dreams, the one place he could be with a part of Berwald again. He’d protect their son, get him out safe as promised… right?

They reached the doorway and he peeped in. “Feli- FELICIANO!”

Feliciano pushed Raivis to the floor. The teen fell over with ease, doubling over himself, sides aching. He’d received a couple good hits to the side, ribs already cracked and bleeding. Tino stood in the doorway, his drunken face all pushed up with horror. “Oh my god, it’s you. You did it. You’ve done it all along, haven’t you?” he pulled Peter close to him, his hands shaking as he pet the young boy’s head. “The bodies… the red room… you killed my husband, didn’t you?? DIDN’T YOU??”

The man walked up to the door, Tino’s eyes already on the blood on the sheets. It had been too obvious, too much for him to just dismiss. Perhaps he would have been logical, if not depressed and in this drunk daze, but that ship had sailed. The bottle remaining in his hand was swung up to Feliciano’s head, smashing into his cheek and nose. It barely missed his forehead. Feliciano brushed his hand against his forehead, noticing the blood drip off it. With a fell swoop, he shoved the children into the room and slammed the door, the lock clicking firmly. “It’s just you and me now, ragazzo carino!”

“I can take you.” Tino smiled, his eyes narrowed into slits. “I know what you did. It’s not so long before the whole world is going to know-“ the usually cheery attitude the man held was gone, his words slurring in a thick accent. “Why don’t you give up now? I’ve got you, I know. They know too.”

Feliciano shrugged. “The one person I care about knowing doesn’t. I haven’t lost at all. I’m just one step closer to winning.” He sprinted into another room, and ripping a lamp and its cord from the wall, walked around. “This is too easy!”

Standing before him wasn’t another man, but rather an enemy, a danger. He had to destroy it. With one swift motion, he cracked the brass base down onto Tino’s head. Like a sack filled with lead, Tino crashed to the floor, his body making minimal noise on the hallway carpet. He wasn’t going to be easy to drag anywhere. Feliciano braced himself. The two kids were trapped in the room, for better or worse, and his husband and his friend were still drinking downstairs. They’d probably fallen asleep anyway, or Feliciano knew that had he been there, he would’ve fallen asleep. There was something satisfying like that about a night drinking.

With all the strength he had left, Feliciano dragged Tino’s body into the doorway of Nguyen’s room. It was still visible, but he didn’t worry too much about it. After all, even if someone found it, there were two children and one adult remaining who had any control to stop the situation. Gilbert wouldn’t - no, he couldn’t. Feliciano wouldn’t let him. Instead, he headed for the main bathroom to shower up before anything else happened. A little over a week had passed since the beginning of it all and he’d had only one other chance to unwind. Even that was just a session of washing blood off his hands, cleaning up to go lie with his husband again. 

The hallways and rooms seemed to take on a dingy glow, the only light filtering loosely through the windows as moonlight or up from the stairs. Feliciano drank it in, the silence almost deafening. From behind the door, there was almost certainly screaming, but he didn’t mind. He made that one room soundproof for a reason. Initially, that reason had been to keep the guests from hearing him and Gilbert, but sometimes things have a happy way of working out. He hummed, strolling into the bathroom and stripping down. The shower was at the far end. He cast his clothes aside, letting the water start running. These faucets were supposed to be state of the art, nothing that should take that long to go through. He closed his eyes and let the sound drown out everything else around him.

Water hit his skin, the temperature just a fig too cold. Feliciano turned it up, letting his eyes close and his guard down for a moment. Steam drifted up from the bottom of the shower, the little stone cell dripping. Feliciano exhaled, his lungs filling with the sleepy feeling of warmth. He hadn’t felt that for a long time - well, really, he hadn’t felt anything for a long time. The happy times, those sad and relenting - all had been consumed, now the world just an empty void. A playing field, everyone a soldier on a chess board. Expendable. That’s what they were. It was all a game, and most importantly, Feliciano had to win. But truly, what was winning?

His hand jerked down the metal handle. With an aggressive chop, the water supply shut off. Feliciano shook himself off, mopping the water off his bare skin. His arms tingled to the touch of the towel. In the corner of the room was the discarded pile of clothes for the day, although they would definitely work without another option of something to wear. The bathroom itself held a strong stench of rot, wafting over from the stall where no one had found Lin. That room was one of the darkest, Feliciano making his way around by tapping the walls. He hadn’t bothered to turn on any lights; it simply wasn’t necessary. Lights were for when other people needed them. Not Feliciano. Besides, who needs lights when you’ve got the master keys to every single door in the house? The locks that people thought to be nonexistent? Nonexistent to everyone who didn’t have the proper entrance ticket. 

Feliciano tugged the clothes onto his slim frame, letting them drape around him. The shirt was Gilbert’s, he was just borrowing it. Ever since the early dating stages, Feliciano borrowed Gilbert’s clothing since it fit him. The same couldn’t exactly be done in reverse, so Gilbert simply accepted it and moved on. All dressed, Feliciano left the room, leaving the door swinging behind him. Who was left? Three. Three and he’d probably have to go through it all tonight, unless there was some way to delay it. He tried to think about it. Sleep had been plentiful enough, or as good sleep as he could get with one eye open. It wasn’t Gilbert he was suspicious of, but rather someone else who might notice. 

Against the doorframe, Tino’s body was still propped up, the chest rising and falling. Feliciano blinked - had he really left him merely unconscious? From the afore-thought corpse came a sound. “Kill me already.”

“Did you just… talk?” he asked, strolling over to snatch Tino by the chin. He pushed his head back, the bloodied base of the skull hitting into the doorframe. 

The only visible thing was the continual rise and fall, something which was unmistakably life. “Yeah. I did. You can go through this all you want, but Peter will get out safe. Even if I don’t make it… Matthias is there. He’ll be damned if he can’t help. If he’s going to be all precocious and call himself ‘King of the North’, then he damn better be ready to have something to show for it and get my son out of there. Raivis too, they’ll both make it. You can try all you want, but you’re not the one with the axe. You aren’t the king.”

“Honorary king,” Feliciano sneered, pressing his head back even further into the wood. Something about that faintly sweet tone of voice made him sick to the bone, and Tino knew it. The change happened so quickly in Feliciano’s eyes it was barely noticeable. “When the real king is dead, who’s left? Who rules the wasteland? Me. I do. Honorary king, it’s mine. My world, my people, my everything.”

Tino shook his head. “It’s not a world unless it has people in it. Give it up, you know that. You’ll be lonely in your little kingdom of ashes.”

Feliciano dropped his hand, letting Tino’s head sink down. The depression had worn into the Finnish man, his half-lidded eyes glazed over with irrelevance. Feliciano strode over, moving to the right position to send a sound thrust of his foot into Tino’s face. One after another, Tino received the blows to the face like they were nothing, his chest holding the same slow rise and fall it had before. Nothing had changed. Feliciano grunted, searching into the room until he had found a hair curler. Those were in all the drawers, they just added a bit of ease to everyone’s daily schedule before Feliciano had begun playing. He plugged one end into the outlet beside the door, letting it heat to the highest setting. He sang while he waited, just like the old days. It calmed him down. Tino didn’t move, his breathing becoming almost hoarse and ragged.

“Don’t worry!” Feliciano chirped, feeling the heat close to his fingertips. “It’ll be over soon!”

“Minu rakastama, wait for me,” Tino wheezed out, physically unable to get up. 

Feliciano ran his finger on the tip of the curling iron. It sizzled softly, and he bit his lip in the feeling of the pain. “Looks like you’re ready now then, already saying your goodbyes!” Feliciano chuckled, feeling inwardly pleased with himself. Looking at the man, his nose crushed in and features already sullied. It was barely recognizable as the same Tino who had sat at dinner with them that night, trying to make jokes despite the internal demand to have him burst into tears. For Peter, he’d been strong. Feliciano held up the iron for a second, moonlight caressing the elegant piece of metal. It was thin, perfect for what Feliciano would need it for. Within another second, he jammed it down into Tino’s left eye - or what was left of it. 

Tino tried to scream, the sound barely making it out of his partially closed throat. The wound was instantly cauterized, the tip of the eye boiling instantly before simply burning. The horrendous stench filled the hallway, but no one noticed. Feliciano ripped the iron back out, pressing it up and into the other eye. He could feel it hitting through skin, muscle and bone, a little bit of blood seeping out, but not much. In the other socket was the charred remains of what was once an eye, the hole going up and deep into the skull. Had Tino had eyes left, the pain would’ve caused him to tear up instinctively. Crying still presented itself as one of the most humanly possible reactions, especially from what Feliciano had noticed for the past couple days. There had been so many chances to notice it, and even though in his waking moments he was a little bit daft, he’d learned a lot.

The chest had ceased to rise, perhaps even leaving the man down for the count. Feliciano walked to the bottom of the body, leaving the iron resting across his face. It had indefinitely reached the brain, terminating movement from there. Still, Feliciano needed to be sure. He kicked up hard into the man’s groin, waiting for some form or reaction. None came. With a relieved sigh, Feliciano unplugged the iron and moved it down to Tino’s throat. If he had any life left, it would be gone soon.

Feliciano moved over to the wall outside his bedroom, still needing time to think about what to do to the children and to keep Gilbert away from it all, before he could knock down the last three people. The hunger, that terrible burn - a part of it was almost satisfied now. He glanced over at Tino, the wretched smile on his face, eye sockets hollow and burned out. It wasn’t a face but a specter that met him, as if he were in a dream. “Go have fun with your beloved,” he muttered, almost sarcastically, “It’s about time you did.”

On the bottom floor, Gilbert and Matthias were still drinking and laughing together, about nothing in particular. Gilbert drank to deny what he’d seen with his brother and husband; Matthias drank to let go how he’d failed Lukas and Berwald and in a way, Emil too. Still, he had Tino and Peter, so all was not lost. It was that bit of hope that kept him going, Gilbert going off of his husband who was still by his side. “There’s no need to fear the world-“ Gilbert paused, “When it isn’t there!”

The two of them burst out laughing - not because there had been anything particularly funny about the remark, but more because there was something in common between them, something where a struggle was shared. The sort of camaraderie you can only really get in those life-or-death situations. More often than not, before everything, they would’ve shared these nights with Alfred too. They still hoped a tiny bit that he was still hostage, even though it was pretty evident that with everyone disappearing, there was no way they could get Alfred back. He may as well have been a lost cause, right then and there, but the others weren’t quite willing to give up.

“Okay okay I’ve got one,” Matthias mustered out, between giggles, “Okay so why did the moose cross the Öresond?”

“I don’t know!”

Matthias could barely answer through his fits of laughter. “HE WANTED TO HAVE AN EGGGGGG!”

The tone was enough to send them both into another bout of giggles, something Matthias was good at. He could make almost anyone laugh, except maybe Ludwig. Ludwig was good at holding his composure. The only problem here was him telling the punchline to the wrong joke, but Gilbert didn’t mind. It was good to be in the company of a friend.

As it was late, Gilbert could already feel himself growing tired. “Hey, Matthias?” he asked, resting his head down on the table, a stupid grin on his face.

“Yeah?”

He closed his eyes. “I’m gonna sleep here, okay? Can ya go find Feli and tell him or something, you can sleep too, ‘kay? You’ve got a room with Tino.”

“Cool, we used to be roommates back in the day.”

“Yeah, I know. Go tell Feli though, ja? I’m gonna sleep.”

Matthias patted him on the head, and muttered something about eggs with a giggle, headed off in the direction of the stairs. Eggs indeed! They weren’t as good as his recorder, but lightening the mood never failed - and with his friend, no less! Maybe, finally, it’d be a good night.


End file.
